


Biały Wilk i Jaskier

by PrettiKittie



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anxiety Attacks, Christmas, Families of Choice, Gen, Geralt is good father, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier has the braincell but the braincell has its own office hours, Jaskier is actually smart if he wants to be, Jaskier | Dandelion Has ADHD, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Anxiety, Lawyer Yennefer, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sick Jaskier | Dandelion, Teacher Jaskier | Dandelion, aka an insight into how to write comparative analysis in a nutshell, canon in my perception is 3 jigsaw puzzle pieces representing book show and game universe, characters might be OOC, christmas in poland, inside slavic jokes and references for my own pleasure because i can!, polish christmas, set in modern day Poland, that in the end they fit and even make sense, trust me i'm a teacher, which don’t fit together but i’m making them so bad to fit together, written by non-polish person altough a slavic person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 62,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25293133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettiKittie/pseuds/PrettiKittie
Summary: Mgr Julian “Jaskier” Pankratz, freshpolish linguistics and philology graduate, is offered due to graduatingsumma cum laudea scholarship and a place in PhD program along with a position of polish language and literature teacher in the liceum where he was doing his teaching apprenticeship. Away from the grip of his overbearing parents, a new chapter of Jaskier’s life is beginning to write itself.Literally.To start writing, he has to find a long lost spark of inspiration. He didn’t find inspiration, he found a wolf.The White Wolf.---16-02-2021I've rewritten all chapters and added new content, so because of that I'm 'updating' it today.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Priscilla, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. poeta & wiedźmin

**Author's Note:**

> _White Wolf and Buttercup_
> 
> > first three chapters are something like 'prequel' to the actual story, just to introduce the world of this AU  
> > all teaching experience comes from my own practice. I'm not a polish teacher, nor a language teacher, I'm a _history & art teacher_  
> > ADHD experience is also based on my own experience  
> > I'm not Polish, although I'm Slav and thus I understand slavic culture very well and also polish is no problem for me, I can understand written and spoken word perfectly!  
> > this is my first time writing fanfic, so I'm learning as I go <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _poet & witcher_

For once, life has been treating Jaskier well. He had just finished his magister’s degree in _polish linguistics and philology_ at the Faculty of Polish Studies at the Warsaw University. Even managed to graduate _summa cum laude_ , for which the faculty offered him a scholarship and a place in the PhD program. Furthermore, the liceum, where he was doing his teaching apprenticeship offered him a position of polish language and literature teacher. The new chapter of his life could begin. He already had a place to live in Warsaw as he was living for two years now in a rented flat with his roommate Priscilla, who he had met through music classes.

For summer, he just wanted to go home and chase the inspiration. Being from Zakopane, a picturesque small town located in the south of Poland, famous for the Tatra mountains, surrounding the town, could serve as the much-needed inspiration boost. Mountains always were a perfect place for a poet in dire need of inspiration. Offering to challenge his inner aspiration of a romanticist poet and for reason, Jaskier was always _a romantic_ in the heart.

He planned to spend summer writing and composing songs, for which he hadn’t had much time during school. And brush off those rusty piano skills. Oh, he hasn’t played the piano in _ages_. And the most he was looking forward to spending time with his grandmother, who is so close with. Tending the garden with her, marvelling at the blooming flowers, sitting together on the porch and reading books, singing and laughing together. She would call him _Jaskierek_ and always welcome him with a full plate of freshly baked plum pie. Jaskier always knew who was _the favourite_ grandson of her.

Sadly, reality does not always look as one imagines it. An obstacle, which stood in the way of almost perfect summer plans were the overbearing parents. Most of the time spent at the home, which he referred now as _his parents' house_ , went not well. Endless jabbings about his personal life, studies and even love life usually ending in argument or his father just throwing some official paperwork at him, saying “Make yourself _useful_ Julian, proofread and edit these for us,” thus ending the conversation.

“Right. _Useful,_ ” mumbled Julian-Jaskier.

Useful, unlike his older cousin Ferrant, who lives in Kraków and had studied law at the prestigious Jagiellonian University. Now he’s one of the most excellent lawyers in Kraków, planning to make a great career in politics. What _a selfish prick._ Even worse than his obnoxious classmate Valdo, and that speaks for itself.

Meanwhile, Jaskier is now _just_ a polish language teacher. To say his family agreed with his studies would be an overstatement. It was always expected more of him than to go and study liberal arts as his whole family is politics-oriented. Father being a lawyer and currently the mayor of Zakopane for over 20 years. Mother being mayor’s right hand at the position of vice-mayor. Even his only relatives, uncle from father’s side and cousin, had a career in politics. Simply said, it was expected of him to join the family business. The only benefit the so-called _family business_ had from his studies was his ability to perform grammatical and stylistic arrangements on the official paperwork.

As soon as his father found out that him being a linguist is, sort of, useful in the political field he didn't consider Jaskier’s chosen career as _that much_ worthless. He even considered marrying him off when he graduates to Anna Henrietta, the daughter of his friend from university, who now works in a high position in the district court in Nowy Targ. 

“You don’t know when having ties with the court specialized lawyers could be useful” _,_ his father used to say. Also, Annarietta herself had recently shown interest in politics. Perfect for his father and family business, but Jaskier refused to partake in this kind of alliance. Which didn’t go too well for mending cracks in their already not stable family relationships.

Running away as far as possible from his politically oriented overbearing family to university was his new chance at life. Free from expectations thrown at him, no more of _just_ Julian the mayor’s son. As mayor’s son, his future looked bright. He was aware of what privilege being _Pankratz_ would bring. How his life could be so _easy_. All those ties, money, a place in the town council and the power coming from it. In spite of living his own life, Jaskier swept all these opportunities and privileges like cards from the table and went into the world pursuing what was his heart after. 

Jaskier refused to take a part in this, he would never become a lawyer or someone like that and marry someone in order to form ties. That wasn’t him and living _this_ life would destroy him.

But not all of his family was like that. His grandma was the best person. She would always go on how he resembled his late grandfather, Alfred, likewise looks and mind. And who was also a musician back in days. How his grandfather upon meeting him would be so proud as he’s carrying his name and legacy. 

Jaskier didn’t know what was his place in this town. To town’s people known only as Julian the mayor’s son. Around him politicians and lawyers everywhere, even in the family circle. Mother, father, uncle, cousin. Jaskier saw them as vultures. Dressed in fancy black. Sucking life from already lifeless people. Always hungry for power.

However much the cons would try to outweigh the pros, for Jaskier they’re always going to be two things, which are worth coming back to. The first thing being his grandma, who means a world to him. The second thing being nature, because where else could Jaskier just snag his lute and go running to the town outskirts where he would sit in the flower-covered meadow while strumming the lute as mountains are towering above him. 

This is Jaskier’s _home_. And he wouldn’t ruin it with individuals who all keep saying “Mayor’s son. Got it easy.”

Mayor’s son. 

Got it easy.

_Sure.  
  
_

As soon as he came back _home_ for summer after graduating from university, his father immediately enrolled him in work. Jaskier was now spending days in his father’s office working as a stylistic advisor for town council. A perfect way to enjoy a well-deserved summer break, right?

As weeks went by and summer was slowly reaching its end, Jaskier finished his last ‘work’ day and thus he was free from this work to enjoy what was left of summer. He only had left the last stack of papers, very important ones, to proofread and edit. This he could do from the comfort of his old childhood room or he could come to sit in grandma's house and work from there, fortunately, he didn’t have to sit anymore in that office surrounded by people in suits and feeling out of place with his colourful shirts. He would enjoy the free evening now, he would worry about the papers laters.

Blowing up dust, which gathered up on the old piano located in his room, he sat down, put fingers on tiles and started to play. The notes were flying through the room as his fingers danced on the piano tiles accompanied by a tune hummed in harmony matching the piano. 

Jaskier wasn’t a professional musician per see, despite having some sort of musical education. Ever since childhood he was drawn to the music, playing the piano, guitar and even the freaking lute and on the top of it, he also was a brilliant singer. Even though music is his biggest passion so is literature, especially poetry, which won him over.

He was disturbed from this self-created idyll by the sound of his phone ringing. Jaskier groaned and grabbed the phone from the table, thinking his father urgently needs his services in linguistics, _again_ , “Yes?”

The voice, which spoke up wasn’t his father’s, “Hi, Jaskier,” it was Priscilla, his dear friend and roommate in Warsaw, “How are you? I know you wanted to spend summer off work, but it seems I have a kind of emergency…”

“I hope not the linguistics kind of emergency. Frankly, I’ve had enough of them, these days I feel like I’m a linguist on call,” he laughed.

“Remember telling you about the renaissance fair we are organizing this summer,” Jaskier hummed in an agreement, “It’s this Sunday and our historian who had to give out a lecture on literature had called in sick and we’re in dire need in replacement.”

“Ahh,” Jaskier knew when this was going, “So it’s literature related kind of emergency, I’m in!”

“You sure?” Priscilla made sure, “It’s such short notice and you may have had plans. It’s okay if you decline the offer.”

“Are you kidding?” Jaskier exclaimed, _talk about the impulsivity,_ “Far better than spending my weekend with the stack of documents waiting for editing.”

“Thank you Jaskier, really,” Priscilla smiled behind the phone, “Oh, I nearly forgot, bring your lute it’s crucial!”

“This better gotta be fun,” Jaskier lightened up, then groaned upon realization, “Uhh, I have to spend the whole tomorrow in trains travelling.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if you got a driving licence?” Priscilla asked.

“With my attention span?” 

“Fair enough. For everyone’s else safety.”

“Wait for me tomorrow, _sunshine_ ,” Jaskier winked although Priscilla couldn’t see it.

“If you forget the lute, I will personally send you back to retrieve it, _Dandelion_ ,” she laughed as she ended the call with the nickname she made up to playfully mock him.

Instead of a calm evening filled with piano playing Jaskier’s evening got chaotic as he had to quickly pack up things for his unplanned impulsive trip tomorrow, explaining to his parents he has to go to Warsaw for two days for a ‘work opportunity’ and promising to finish editing the given documents on the train ride there.

Next day it awaited him an over 400 kilometres train ride from Zakopane to Warsaw, one train switch and in total around 8 hours of travelling, plenty of time for the editing and mindlessly staring at the scenery passing by. Plus it could always increase with train delays, which is a regular rule. 

Luckily Jaskier’s train had only a 5-minute delay and Priscilla was waiting for him at the train station. On their way back to their shared flat they stopped at fast food to pick up some late dinner. They ate with the TV playing in the background and then Jaskier, worn from his travels and editing documents on the way, went straight to bed. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

In the morning they had to wake up early and head to the outskirts of Warsaw, where the fair was taking the place. On the spot, they changed into costumes, both were going as bards. Priscilla changed into a red shirt with blue west on it and matching breeches, stockings, one turquoise and one orange and red hat with a huge orange feather on it. Jaskier changed into a blue doublet and matching trousers with red embroidery, he also put on a black hat with black and white feathers on it, but Priscilla and her colleagues took it off, after having a good laugh, because he looked ridiculous in it.  
  


Priscilla Callonetta is one year older than Jaskier, graduated last year with a magister's degree in _liberal arts_ specializing in music and theatre. Right now she’s working in a music shop as a helping hand in handling historical musical instruments and offering advice and guidance. She’s also one of the founding members of Warsaw's historic and folk music organization. Priscilla is interested in keeping historical music alive and implementing it to festivals, fairs, theatres and so on. Often organizing meetings for the same historical instruments enthusiasts _as her_ to form a one-way band and play. That’s how she and Jaskier had met, even though their first meeting was through _History of music in the renaissance period_ class, which Jaskier took as an elective course. She and he were the only lutists in the group, their mutual initial thought being, _who the hell plays the goddamned lute in the freaking 21st century?!_ resulting in bonding over their shared love for the old instrument.   
  


In the staff meeting before the fair, Jaskier was told that his part in the fair consisted of holding a short and brief lecture about medieval literature and talking about the bardic profession in detail, playing the lute and posing for the photos. 

The historian, who was supposed to perform this lecture originally, unfortunately, got ill. Priscilla, as one of the organizers, recommended Jaskier as a last-minute replacement. Not a historian, but could play the lute and had a degree in literature and was obsessively passionate about this topic as he was taking elective classes in _anything_ , which has to do with the bardic profession.

This Jaskier’s obsession with the bardic profession began since he bought his, now repaired lute, in a flea market in Nowy Targ. At first glance he thought the instrument looked cool, something like a vintage guitar, holding a belief that playing the lute would be as easy as playing the guitar. 

It wasn't as easy as playing the guitar. 

There was nobody in town, who could give him lute lessons, he was on his own, only helping with tutorials on the internet. It was hard work and it took a lot of time until he figured out how to grasp the lute and then he slowly started to fall in love with the instrument. There began his interest in its history, who played the lute, when and for what occasion, then he found about bards, travelling storytellers accompanied by music. It seemed like Jaskier had predispositions for this _profession_. 

Ever since childhood, he had shown a great talent regarding his voice. Excelling in recitation competitions, ever since kindergarten. Once in primary school, he ended up in second place in the big competition, which took place in Kraków. Upon his parent’s insistence, he started taking voice technique classes in local _primary school for art education_ , where he also started to practice singing. His teachers kept playing various tones on a piano to better train their ears for rhythm and Jaskier, who was a naturally curious child, started demanding piano lessons as well. 

His parents were happy for him, supporting his every decision. In return, Jaskier was performing on many folk feasts or other celebrations organized by town. The mayor’s talented son was always the star of every program. Always the solo singer or the lead pianist in their little school band, if you could call it like that.

The sweet life of his parents being proud of him vanished when he started his education in liceum. No longer it was expected of him being the cute little singer and pianist, instead of it, it was expected of him to study well and not to fiddle with music. 

It wasn’t enough for Jaskier, as he kept itching for more. He needed music, it was the only fixed point in his life.

On his fifteenth birthday, his grandma gifted him a guitar. An old guitar, a little bit scuffed at the corners, which once belonged to his late grandfather Alfred, as noted by the engraved initials _A. P._ on guitar’s corpus. To Jaskier, it was like owning some valuable treasure. He started learning to play on it by the ear, even fell so much in love with the guitar that he, back then, abandoned the piano for good and shifted his whole musical expression into the guitar. It was easier to play and also it was portable, which was the biggest benefit.

Jaskier didn’t put much value into his studies. Instead, he did revel in making up silly rhymes, which he then was adapting as songs for guitar. 

His first poem ever written was for a girl from the class above, who he fancied. Although she rejected him, he still kept writing new poems in order to win her heart. It wasn’t successful, but in the end, he found a passion for writing poems. And he was good at it. Ever since he had acquired a lute, he started writing songs specifically for the lute adaptations. Even went so far as to have chosen the name _Jaskier_ as his bardic pseudonym. It was a silly childhood nickname, given by his grandma according to who he was always _as bright as buttercup_ and it stuck with him. 

Some kids went punk, Julian went medieval.

In conclusion, Jaskier was the best last-minute replacement for the historian, which they could ever get a hold of. Maybe Jaskier couldn’t explain historical and sociological facts in such depth, but he had passion, knew how to write and perform songs in medieval style and sometimes his character gave out the feeling that Jaskier really had been in previous life indeed a bard.

Jaskier’s lecture went very well, visitors listened to him with interest and even participated in the discussion by asking questions, little children and even adults adored his skill in playing such a historical instrument. After a small concert and taking photos with some of them, he was able to freely enjoy the fair. Firstly he had lunch in one of the many food stalls. 

Meanwhile on the main stage amateur actors were preparing for a play, which Priscilla was directing. Jaskier got curious so after lunch, he ended up watching a reenactment of a folktale about the knight, who villagers hired to kill a devil who is stealing grain from villagers with a twist. It turned out the knight after being beaten up by the group of other villagers had deserted and fled. No devil was stealing the grain, it was people. The point of the play was pointing out every fairytale has a grain of reality in it, people just tend to focus on fantastical elements. Or something along those words.

Continuing his free time roaming around the fair he had watched a group of three men dressed as knights performing unconventional sword fights, it looked like a terrifying battle but at the same time, it looked like a graceful dance with the sword. Then he wandered around the market with folk crafts, chatted with sellers and complimented the crafts, had the most pleasant interaction with the boy performing woodcarving. He was often stopped by visitors who wanted to take a picture with him, Jaskier, aware he was drawing attention with lute carrying on his back and dressed as a bard, happily obliged even chatted with them and offered to play simple harmonies on the lute.

As the evening and the closing hour was drawing nearer, Jaskier settled in the area, which was converted to the medieval tavern with a makeshift bar area and panels, which were wrapped in cobblestone wallpaper and decorated with tapestries. The atmosphere being jolly as last visitors were staying and enjoying the ale, some of them playing cards, others just sitting and soaking up the medieval atmosphere. 

By now Jaskier was basically free from any work, but still was running around the tavern playing the lute and making up silly rhymes about dragons and witches on the go. Giving the tavern a boost in the atmosphere. At the end of his performance, he was given applause and shouts from the gathered audience. 

From everyone except one.

Grabbing a glass of fresh ale from the bar counter Jaskier approached the stranger “Hey, you brooding alone in the corner, what’s your opinion?” he exclaimed.

The stranger didn’t reply, just kept staring at him, disinterestedly.

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier sat opposite of him, “You certainly have some words for me. Three words or less.”

“Not historically accurate,” the stranger said in a deep voice.

“Whoa. Okay. I mean…” this is something he wasn’t expecting at all, “Yes well you see it’s not historically accurate because it is a story and stories are not...real?”

“There’s a grain of truth in every fairytale, folktale and legend, people just tend to focus on the fantastical elements. Blinding eyes to the truth. Seeking comfort from fairytales and magic.”

This stranger was familiar. The words he spoke were familiar.

“They blame their problems on curses, fates, destinies, magical creatures so they can be good. It’s a fine line between good and bad.”

Jaskier laughed, ”That’s exactly the reason why people invent stories! Reality is often harsh, why couldn’t they have something to comfort them? Especially in medieval times, speaking of it and uhh-” then it clicked, “I know who you are. You wrote that play? You know which one, do you? The one about the devil and villagers, which turned out there was no devil at all. You’re not fun, I was waiting for the devil to show up!”

The stranger said nothing. Maybe silence meant Jaskier was right or he was talking too much the stranger didn’t have a word in this conversation.

“And also you seem to be one of the knights from the sword tournament, am I right? Judging by your white hair, one could not have overlooked you.”

“A vedmak.”

“ _A vedmak_? What?” Jaskier was nervously scratching his head, “E-excuse me, I don’t know this … character?” 

“Male version of a witch.”

“O-okay,” Jaskier was quiet for a while, “Wouldn’t you be then called the mage, sorcerer or something like that? And right now as I’m looking at you dressed in armour with two swords, scary-looking swords I might add, you don’t strike me as someone who would use magic. You look like a knight, without a helmet,” Jaskier kept explaining while making gestures with his hands.

The white-haired stranger groaned in a tone, which meant for Jaskier that he talked too much and crossed another border with someone.

“I see. I said more than I wanted. Thank you for the talk” he stood up and was going away from the makeshift tavern, “It was umm... good. I’ll be on my way, then. Goodbye?”

“Wait,” the not-knight called after him and Jaskier stopped, “There’s more.”

“Well then,” Jaskier sat back down opposite the white-haired stranger and smiled, “It looks like I’m all yours.” 

“In Slavic mythology, there’s this vedmak, who is a mutant who uses magic abilities and super endurance whom people back in the day would hire to kill monsters for money,” the white-haired not-knight explained, “It’s not your fault for not knowing. It’s not a much-researched mythology aspect, as the limited remaining information is written in old polish.”

Jaskier was deep in thoughts.

“Thank you for listening. Not many people are interested in this kind of topic,” the vedmak-man said sincerely.

Jaskier smiled “No problem. I love hearing stories. Oh, I’ve nearly forgotten,” he extended his hand “I’m Jaskier.”

“Geralt. Geralt Rivia,” the stranger, Geralt, took it.

“Well, Geralt. To popularize this character you need the right name. Nothing wrong with vedmak, just you know, if you want to get the attention you need something modern sounding,” Jaskier was thinking for a while, “You said the male version of a witch, so how about _a_ _witcher_?”

Geralt grunted.

“Then it’s all settled. The witcher is it!”

“You won’t popularise it, people are not interested in that kind of character,” Geralt shot back.

“At least allow me to try.”

“So...you need a medieval-sounding name. _Geralt of Rivia_ , yeah that works...” it was getting late, more ale was consumed and Jaskier was scribbling in his notebook, “What rhymes with Rivia… Olivia? Uhh, this is impossible,” said Jaskier facepalming into the table, “You need a pseudonym. You know how knights, and yes I know you’re not a knight, but you need a title. You know Richard the Lionheart. What would you be? You have a wolf on your medallion, I see so let’s work with _Geralt the Wolf_ ,” he scratched it out, “Ehh, I don’t like the sound of it. Too lengthy and wordy. Not catchy. Don’t look at me like that Geralt, I know my ways around words, just give me a moment.” 

“Leave it be, bard. I told you, you won’t make a good story out of it.”

“Hmm wolf, wolf … but what wolf? The brave wolf, the scary wolf, the black wolf, the white wolf… oh wait, the white wolf,” he was muttering to himself, then “Geralt I’ve got it!” Jaskier exclaimed and nearly spilt his ale.

“ _The White Wolf!_ You know based on your white hair and wolf medallion,” he explained.

“A _coin_ for your thoughts, bard,” said Geralt as he took a sip of his ale.

Jaskier strumming the lute said, “Well, not a bad idea, actually.”

“Suit yourself.”  
  


Several minutes passed and Jaskier took the lute and had taken a place in the centre of a makeshift tavern, “Are you ready for one more ballad from your local bard? I know you are, so listen,” he explained and the remaining visitors, surprisingly, got quiet.

Jaskier played the melody, on which he was working for some time. Talking with Geralt gave him the right inspiration boost and he could finally attach the right words to the music. Using the plot of play he had watched earlier as an inspiration and adapting it to the actual folktale.

He sang about being on a path with a witcher, Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, abducted by the devil and elves, how the witcher fought them all, prevailed and how the people were celebrating the hero’s deed.

Jaskier felt there was something more a lot deeper about this vedmak Geralt was telling him about. Misunderstood, not being written about thus ending in not translating the remaining information and being forgotten. Nearly forgotten. Jaskier was determined to make a change, if storytellers in the past didn’t make a mark on history, Jaskier will die trying to. Adding up folktale elements such as replacing the other villagers in the story with the elves, setting up the scenery, _the edge of the world is near the mountains_ , thanks Priscilla to that allegory about his hometown, and overall making sure to describe this misunderstood poorly treated vedmak, now witcher, as a friend of humanity. 

During the chorus, people started to throw coins at him as a joke. Well, the ale consumed spoke for itself and the audience wasn’t much sober to start.

Eventually, people started to sing along with him. Chorus was annoyingly catchy and easy to remember. Jaskier was having the time of his life. Dancing around while singing and playing and occasionally winking at Geralt sitting in the corner. Feeling like _the real_ bard.

As soon as he finished and was awarded with the thundering applause and whistling from the patrons, Priscilla came bursting in, “We’re closing the fair, could you please leave- wait what’s happening here, we didn’t have any concerts? Jaskier?”

She found him talking to a white-haired stranger.

“That’s not how it should be,” the white-haired stranger grumbled, but Jaskier was smiling, “Where're your new-found respect?”

“Respect doesn’t write history, “ Jaskier replied in a serious tone, “Storytellers do.”

Jaskier picked up all coins and put it on the table in front of Geralt, “Keep the coin,” Jaskier winked as Priscilla was dragging him by arm away, “This means dinner’s on you next time,” Jaskier managed to call after him, even though his words were starting to slur and he was slipping into his goral accent.  
  


Little did he know one visitor managed to record his performance and put it online. 

Little did he know his quickly put together song about witcher was getting popular quite swiftly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _summa cum laude_ \- latin honours, graduated with the honours  
>  _magister_ \- equivalent to english master’s degree used in central Europe, including Poland  
>  _liceum_ \- high school in Poland oriented on general knowledge education  
>  _vedmak_ \- from Slavic mythology, Slavic "shaman" who worked with herbs and magic. This term is used in the Czech version of The Witcher as an insult to call witcher. The Witcher is normally called "zaklínač", which means "one who casts spells"


	2. poeta & księżniczka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _poet & princess_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciri is around 14-15 here if it wasn't obvious.

Like most things in Jaskier’s life, they happened by accident or by his own stupidity. When it came to choosing his study specialization at the end of the first year of university, Jaskier just waved his hand around it, acting like it didn't bother or concern him at all. 

Wrong, it came at him all at once.

Jaskier, suddenly aware it was _the_ _last day_ when he had to choose a specialization, was nearing a mental breakdown. Specialization in editing, media studies, translating or teaching, which one? He wasn’t good at making decisions in an instant, so he let it wait, to the last day possible, when he found himself standing in the student’s department office, where not so pleasant woman in her forties was coldly telling him he doesn’t have to choose _anymore_ as every other specialization reached its maximum capacity and the only free place is in the teaching specialization. It was either that or goodbye university.

Jaskier was furious. Him being _a teacher_ of all things? Are you kidding?!

Mandatory teaching subjects were a horror for him. He couldn’t focus, kept zoning out during lessons, which didn’t form a good impression on professors. Exams and studying for them was another chapter. Nights were spent in a caffeine-induced state where he cried while studying pedagogy, teaching theory, education law and methodology. Oh, _the methodology_ was the worst of them all. It wasn’t like Jaskier was stupid, he just couldn’t stuff to his head pages and pages of dry theories, which he couldn’t have applied to something constant and this made him feel very stupid. It got to the stage, where he was so mad and stressed that he even filled out an appeal for switching his specialization. He would become an editor or something, just to stay as far as possible from pedagogy subjects. The faculty had refused his appeal. This made Jaskier even more frantic. 

Fortunately, as he had finished the second year, then in the third year had come the actual teaching apprenticeships. His aversion to pedagogy and teaching was slowly receding. Jaskier was generally good with people, loved to talk and had no problem being the centre of attention. Being a singer, his voice was trained and Jaskier knew how to use it professionally, knowing how to articulate, how to use intonation and speak clear polish without his goral accent. Jaskier lives of people and working with people fills him with joy. He wouldn’t have it another way. He taught seven graders in primary school and loved doing literary analyses with them. Children were so good at finding hidden meanings, which even his literature professors overlooked.

And mind you, he didn’t need those tons of theories, which he was forced to memorise, he figured how to teach on his own. One could say he was a natural-born talent.

Through being fun, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. After every taught lesson Jaskier had to write a report, where he had to describe in detail the lesson plan minute after minute, what didactic principles and methods were used. Organization and planning were never Jaskier’s strong points, he preferred to follow his intuition. This aspect of the teacher he hated with a burning passion, but what could he do than to endure it. _Those bloody didactics and their punctuality_.

During the magister’s degree study choosing the study specialization wasn’t mandatory like during bachelor’s degree study. This time Jaskier voluntarily chose to specialize in teaching polish language and literature at a higher level. Even though he knew he had to again endure pedagogy subjects and writing boring reports. This time he was doing his teaching apprenticeship at the liceum and the school, where he taught, had to be satisfied with his performance during apprenticeship that they have offered him a position of polish language and literature teacher after he would graduate. He, obviously, accepted the offer, although due to his upcoming post-gradual education he alongside the school agreed to a part-time teaching job.

Sometimes his stupidity did bring him somewhere.

Maybe if things had gone differently he would be an editor today. In the end choosing his specialization in teaching was the right choice, _a destiny,_ how poets would call it. He can talk and gosh he _loves_ to talk. Talking about what he’s passionate about was a dream. Well, he wasn’t a big fan of linguistics, but for literature, he did breathe. Being an editor or a translator would involve sitting in the office and looking at papers all day long. With his short attention span, it would be a torture.

Speaking of, he was on the way to work now. And he was late.

As a student, him being late to classes was second nature to him and nearing graduation nobody hadn’t given a damn about it anymore. But damn, being late on the first day of an official teaching job. That could happen only to Jaskier.

The reason was that though the whole morning he felt a bit stressed. His fingers felt clumsy that he spilt the coffee on himself, which ended in cleaning up the kitchen and himself and digging through the wardrobe for a new presentable outfit. After changing into a fresh outfit, black pants and yellow t-shirt, he was ready to go.

_Wait._

Did he brush his teeth?

It nearly ended with him running outside the flat with a toothbrush in his mouth if he hadn’t realized that he left his jeans jacket laying on the sofa in the living room.

“Gosh, today is starting amazingly,” muttered Jaskier as he was already making his way towards school. Now as a teacher, nor a student.

It wasn’t like Jaskier was nervous about this teaching thing. Alright, he could admit, he felt a little nervous. But it wasn’t like he’ll be teaching for the first time when he forgot to say about half of the things he had written down and further this won’t be his first time teaching at this school, he was familiar on this school grounds. However, it was his first day of teaching as _a real teacher_. He would be on his own for the whole class, no real experienced teacher sitting at the back of the classroom, keeping track of him and guiding him along with the group of his classmates taking notes on Jaskier’s teaching for their observation protocol. Jaskier, as every student, experienced both sides. Sitting at the back and taking notes is far easier than standing and the front and teaching. But somehow even taking notes of your classmates’ teaching can get uncomfortable. _I’m not a teacher,_ yet _. In what position I’m to judge someone else's teaching,_ Jaskier thought. The whole teaching apprenticeship felt like performing a play for the audience, taking the role of the teacher. However, this isn’t the play anymore, this is real life.

The headmaster assigned him two grades to teach. The first one being _1.C_ , newcomers to school, new at the liceum system as Jaskier himself, second being _2.A_ , the class where he spent during the last year teaching lessons the most, students already familiar with him as Jaskier was familiar with them. 

The first week of teaching wasn’t that hard, it was spent mostly getting along with his new students and new teacher colleagues. Almost none teaching was done that week, lessons mostly consisted of introducing students to the syllabus, getting familiar with the class of newcomers by saying “I’m as new as you here and as confused as you are, so let’s be confused together,” earning him a laugh from the students. Jaskier told them to make little cards with a name on it, with which they are comfortable for him to use. His ‘former’ class was both surprised and delighted to have him as their regular teacher and Jaskier looked forward to their lessons.

The first week of school passed quickly. Jaskier was satisfied with himself, managing to set up a quite chill teacher demavour. Now the weekend awaited him and his roommate Priscilla was supposed to come home from her week-long business trip to the Czech Republic and Jaskier promised to fill her in everything about the new job, which Priscilla was dying to hear.  
  


“Okay. Spill everything.” 

They were sitting on the small balcony, with which the flat disponed. Sipping fancy red wine, which Priscilla brought from her trip to Prague. The early September evenings had the tendency to be fairly chilly, though wine and blanket were keeping them warm.

“Some old teacher started to yell at me because I didn't have slippers on. She didn’t even let me explain that I’m _the teacher,_ for god’s sake! Priscilla, stop laughing! This isn’t funny! It’s ruining my serious teacher reputation.”

“Excuse me I lost that part about the serious teacher,” she said in between laughs, “With your baby face, colourful shirts, sneakers and kanken backpack you can easily pass for a high schooler.”

Jaskier crossed his arms and pouted.

“Oh come on, Dandy,” she giggled.

“That’s not all. The next day we had our first official meeting in the staff room. And you should see the old teacher’s face when she saw me at the meeting. If looks could kill I’ll be dead. Then after the meeting, she pulled me aside and told me if the headmaster had not introduced me as the new teacher she would still think I was just some troublesome student crashing into the teachers' meeting.”

“That would be very much in the character!” she giggled, “Stop frowning, you should take that as a compliment. Still looking young, girls and boys still going crazy over you.”

Jaskier huffed, “Yeah and who would want me? Old physics’ teachers? I’ll pass.”

“Anything else interesting?”

Then Jaskier retold her the events of his first day at school as a teacher in his dramatic style of telling a story. With a twist in the end.

Remember when he was supposed to be late for his first day of school? Well, the thing was that despite his morning chaos he came to school still fairly early. One look at his teaching schedule could solve all of his problems. He hadn’t any classes that day, because it was only the first day of the school reserved for the opening of the school year thus no actual learning is going on on that day. Jaskier being out of liceum for years, simply forgot about this fact.

As being said. That could happen only to Jaskier.

Priscilla told him about her trip to Prague, sharing a funny story about how she and her colleagues got lost in Prague and it turned out they were going in the circles around their hotel. Jaskier scoffed at her story, they both shared the same kind of luck.

The atmosphere was relaxed, she knew it was only a calm before storm, she had to break out the news to him. Priscilla took a deep breath, “Jaskier. I need to tell you something. Promise not to get mad.”

“Have you broken the strings on my guitar, _again_?” Jaskier teased swirling wine in his glass.

“My team got an opportunity to own a cabaret,” she revealed quickly in one breath.

“That’s brilliant,” he exclaimed and then came the realization, “But what’s the catch?”

The expression in Priscilla’s eyes was reflecting sadness in abandoning everything she built up here, likewise career and friendships, although if she wanted to fulfil her goals she had to make sacrifices. This work opportunity, which she and her team got could be an opening gate for her brighter future. She had to risk it, even if leaving would be painful. Very painful.

“It’s in Oxford and I’m moving to England,” she admitted after a while.

“ _What?_ You’re moving abroad?” Jaskier, aware of what this all meant, jumped in his seat and spilt a few drops of red wine on his shirt.

“It seems so. For me, it’s also a quick decision.”

“W-what about the flat?” he stuttered.

“I’m going to resign the lease, the flat is going to be written on you,” she calmly informed him, it looked like she already thought about this.

Jaskier sighed and looked sadly at her, “You know I can’t afford it on my own.”

“I know and I’m sorry Jaskier,” she hugged him from behind, “You’re gonna figure out something. I’ll help you with it.”

“Who would help me with rhymes, who would drink wine with me at 3 am on a workday,” Jaskier tried to joke, however, tears were gathering in his eyes, “I’m going to miss my best friend partner in crime.”

“Likewise _Dandy_ ,” Priscilla agreed, tightening her hug, tears welling in her eyes.

They stayed like that. Enlocked in a hug, silently crying, looking at the night sky from the tiny balcony, imagining the stars, which were hidden behind a Warsaw light-pollution fog.

Geralt Rivia had recently moved to Warsaw from his hometown Rudy, a small village near Katowice. The reason being his adoptive daughter Cirilla who had just finished primary school and Geralt, as most parents do, wanted to provide only the best education for his daughter. With the help of his ex-girlfriend Yennefer, who was living for a while in his family house, they together chose and signed her in the high ranking liceum in Warsaw. 

Yennefer Vengerberg, a lawyer by profession, had recently bought an old house in Warsaw and Geralt and Ciri spent the whole summer there helping with the renovation. Despite Geralt’s and Yennefer’s rocky past, there weren’t any disagreements between them, anymore. They found out a long time ago that the romantic relationship wasn’t from them. After spending some time apart, they formed a friendship. They were much better suited for friendship than for partnership. When Geralt introduced her to Cirilla she immediately fell in love with the girl and started doting on her, claiming her as her daughter. Those two got on like fire on the house and Ciri also considered her as her mother. Forming a little makeshift family together.

Right now Geralt lived in a small socialist flat, which barely fitted him nor Ciri. It would be enough until he would find a bigger and more suitable flat for them. Hoping the capital city will be a better place for the freelance IT technician. His job so far mostly consisted of making errands around the village and fixing the ever fluttering wifi signal in every household and setting up computers for children and older people. The payment wasn’t that much generous, boldly speaking, but Geralt liked this job. 

Geralt and Yennefer together made a decision that Ciri would be staying one week at Yennefer’s place and one week at Geralt’s place. Ciri was overjoyed with this choice. She loved both of her adoptive parents and didn’t want to make choices between them.  
  


“Dad, do you know that singer who sang that _Toss a coin_ song?” Ciri shouted, coming back one day from school, from the door instead of a greeting, Geralt made a face when he was reminded of that song, “Because you wouldn’t believe it, my polish teacher looks exactly like him! Rumours are going around school that it’s really him!”

“A greeting would be nice, Ciri,” Geralt didn’t look up from the laptop, which he was fixing for the student, who lived in their flat complex.

“Hi, _Geralt_ ,” Ciri huffed “I know it’s him. Should confront him about that song you keep so complaining about being _not historically accurate_ and kick his ass?”

“Cirilla!”

She laughed and fled to the living room. Geralt just scoffed and went back to his task.

Jaskier was standing in front of his university building, being back in university felt weird. Around the school areal students were roaming around, sitting on benches chatting, drinking coffee from the nearby coffee shop. Jaskier smiled bittersweetly, he too wanted to feel as carefree as them. Young and free with the future in their hands, looking up to older students and professors and hoping to be one day like them.

 _Oh, the sweet era of carefreeness_ , Jaskier thought, when he was as young and naive as them he held so much respect for people with degrees exposed in front and behind their names like military badges, thinking how respectable and knowledgeable they are. Right now, bearing a magister of arts degree in front of his name it felt like a chain around his neck entitling him to hold a certain position. What an irony, he spent his whole life running from the titles and yet, here he was, back at university getting another degree. Another title to pin on his imaginary uniform. He breathed out and with a spry step walked towards the university building.

Upon arriving into his classes, Valdo Marx, his classmate since the first year, circled him “Julian! Long time no see and what news is going around? Didn’t know you were composing nursery rhymes. Come on, did you really sunk that low? Who are you trying to impress Julian, hm? A bunch of kindergarteners?” he laughed.

“At least I made some impact with my writing. What impact did you make? Oh, right I forgot, those literary magazines which only two people keep buying,” Jaskier spat back sarcastically, the typical figure of speech used while interacting with him.

“That’s _art_!” Valdo puffed his chest up like if he was a pigeon, “Wouldn’t expect you to understand it. You’re just no one from the mountains, those people need simple rhymes, not high art.”

Jaskier growled in anger.

“Get over it _Julianek_. Not everyone could be a good writer.”

Truly nothing has changed and he would have to suffer another four years of Valdo’s presence. Jaskier slammed head onto the desk and sighed, “These are going to be a long four years.”

Several hours later, when classes ended, which were just boring introductions to doctoral studies and research, Jaskier had a meeting with his dissertation supervisor, associate professor Jasinski. The topic he chose for his dissertation, stood as _The poetic model of Polish contemporary neo-medievalist poetry_ , which would consist of the creation of his own poetic model via using a comparative analysis of historical poetry and its application to poems written by Jaskier himself. During the summer he was supposed to think about the concept of his book. That’s where the problem was. He didn’t know what he should write about, lately, he was suffering from a huge writer’s block and everything he wrote was simply a disaster. Except for that _Toss a Coin_ song, but that was a catchy tune improvised on spot.

Upon telling all this to his supervisor, his classic polish literature professor, more specifically the associate professor, who was also the supervisor for his magister’s thesis, he looked at him behind the rim of his glasses.

“Julian,” he said, “For now don’t worry about the book. There’ll be plenty of time for that. Now as a little exercise try to sit down and break apart and analyse the song you wrote. Rhyme structure, rhythm, metre, tropes, figures you know how it goes. Off to you, next week we’ll talk about it.”  
  


The week flew by quickly and Jaskier found himself sitting in his supervisor’s office, feeling like a first-year student, rather than the post-graduate student as he was right now. This fact still felt unbelievable to him.

“How would you classify this poem?” his professor asked, looking through papers, starting Jaskier from his thoughts. Frown on his face, apparently not satisfied with Jaskier’s writing.

“A ballad. The literal ballad, to be more specific,” Jaskier hastily answered, like he was on an oral exam from _Poetics and analysis of a literary work_.

“For what occasion did you write it?” professor Jasinski urged. Now, this totally felt like being on an exam.

“Well, I-” Jaskier nervously gulped, “I was at the renaissance fair and watched a play, which deconstructed all folktale elements and made it into what would be a reality. Then I found myself sitting at the makeshift tavern with a person, who apparently wrote the play. I don’t know for certain, he didn’t talk much except telling me about some forgotten mythological character called vedmak, I think, and as I was quite tipsy from the fair beer, had lute in my hands and I started to imagine how would the actual folktale look like with this vedmak, who I renamed to witcher, and somehow the song was made.”

His supervisor was quiet for a moment, thinking, studying Jaskier’s analysis of the poem. 

“Look, Julian,” he neatly folded his hands and looked at his ward, “In my opinion, there are too many forced rhymes, a lack of context and a coherent subject and overall the poem suffers from awkward grammar. However, I understand what you wanted to do with it. It was improvised on spot, I doubt you had any chance to count syllables in every verse, am I right?” Jaskier nodded, “Plus you intended it to write it as a song nor as a poem. For the most part, there's no consistent rhythm or meter, which I can understand, taking into consideration you relied on your lute for rhythm. You're a musician, you have trained ear thus you base the rhythm intuitively as it sounds right to you. I’m not a musician, I can’t criticise you on this aspect.” 

“By reading it, I can’t tell about what the song exactly is. I see you wanted to tell a story, but I fail to see the story without context present. I’d say this song would appeal to people at the renaissance fair, who saw that play thus are familiar with the concept and story you’re trying to convey in your song.”

“And maybe nobody understood it at all, because I made it all up! I made a completely wanna-be new folktale! Nursery rhymes for children, nothing more,” Jaskier snapped, standing up from his seat and gesturing vividly, “It got popular only because of that _damn_ annoying chorus.” 

“I understand,” the professor chuckled, “Even I got it stuck in my head.”

“So, what now, do I have to rewrite it? Or write another?” Jaskier crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

“No, Julian. Once the song is written and already performed there’s no going back. The song is now its own subject, functioning as a catchy tune, which people can’t get out of their heads. Including myself,” he chuckled, then he quickly became serious, “I didn’t want to make you stressed. Your literary analysis is good, you haven’t missed anything. I just wanted you to look at your writing more critically, to find the meaning behind it, which you put into it unconsciously. And Julian?” 

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever think of yourself as a bad writer. You’re young, you’re still figuring out your style. Inspiration will come to you when you least expect it.”

“Thank you. And I’m sorry for my outburst before,” Jaskier said sheepishly.

“Nothing to worry about Julian,” his supervisor smiled kindly at him. Already used to his antics, he was, after all, they went through magister’s thesis together, so nothing new. They were used to working together.

“So, same time next week?” Jaskier asked, putting on his jeans jacket and throwing a kanken backpack on his shoulder.

“If you’d have something to discuss feel free to drop by anytime. However, to give you a space to think our next official consultation could be next month, agree?”

“Certainly,” and thus bidding their goodbyes, the debate of the student and his mentor was finished.  
  


It wasn’t a month. A lot happened by then. Three months have passed since Jaskier had last shown up to the consultation. He just sent an email stating he’s busy with work and personal life and has no time to think about writing. He was overwhelmed. Priscilla moved out last week, he was alone in the flat, which he couldn’t afford by himself for the long term. He thought about moving out and finding a cheaper smaller one. Or finding a roommate. He was single for a while, which ruled out a potential partner. Friends were also out of the game, Jaskier while being easy-going and charming did not have friends, more like a lot of acquaintances. His only true friend Priscilla moved out, leaving him alone.

Moreso he was thrown into the new world of postgraduate studies, which did differ from what Jaskier was used to. The lessons now consisted of deep debates between professors and students on a given topic from linguistics or literature, often jumping into interdisciplinary relationships. The lessons made you think, form your own subjective opinions and forced you to underlay them with objective facts. 

In literary seminaries, it was always an exchange of arguments between Jaskier and Valdo. These two considered each other the biggest rivals in literature and always tried to outsmart each other. During bachelor’s and magister’s study their former classmates started placing bets on who would win today’s lesson argument for fun and it grew into a tradition. They even made a rate course based on the lesson’s context, Valdo usually excelled in classics and Jaskier’s thing was comparastics. It was a common activity with two groups of classmates, who each placed a bet on their ‘champion’ and usually, the common price for the right bet resulted in winning a free coffee or sweets from the university cafeteria. Sadly, this little game couldn't be played now as their new classmates were more mature and had no time for such childish jeopardy.

And on the other side, there was also Jaskier’s teaching job. As of this day he was reaching one of his first milestones in the teaching career. First assigned and graded homework, still as a student-teacher and now as a real teacher first time giving a test to class. First staff meetings, having freedom in adapting curriculum, which fitted his needs. First-ever _F_ given, which he circled with a red pen with a heavy heart. Moments like this also belonged in this profession, sadly. And the first even parent-teacher meeting. A new milestone. 

Wait a second. What is one supposed to do at a parent-teacher meeting?

The whole day he couldn’t sit still and thoughts in his head couldn’t stop swimming. No, Jaskier refused to admit that he was nervous. Said Jaskier, who could walk a circle in the floor office as he kept pacing round and round. Jaskier had to stay at school until the evening, talking to parents. Talking wasn’t a problem for him, but he was new at school and wasn’t experienced with what the parents will throw at him. He didn’t know what to expect. Three months were not much time to get to know students, it was true that they gave him only two classes to teach, but still, it was only three months. Not much time to mark down every fibre of each student’s personality, while spending only limited time together, which was mainly focused on interpreting polish linguistic and literature to unruly teenagers.

A knock on his office door. “Oh, well here we go,” said Jaskier quietly to himself as he put on his most charming smile in preparation for facing his students’ parents for the duration of the whole evening.

It was going surprisingly good. He talked to parents about their children, showed them their tests, told that each of his students was working well in his class and he hasn’t got any problem with them.

Jaskier tried to act confident and professional thinking _they didn’t teach us this at school, am I doing it right,_ hoped he was a good actor and convinced parents and the idea of _I could ask for acting lessons from Priscilla_ , kept repeatedly crossing his mind. Or maybe parents noticed him being a fairly young teacher and excused his behaviour. That could be a better explanation.

“Yes, Mrs Jaskółkowa tell your son I’m happy with his performance on last week's test and that’ll be everything from my side. Any questions?” she shook her head and bid Jaskier goodbye. Next one, please,” Jaskier called while typing notes into the computer.

The parent next in the line walked into Jaskier’s office, which he shared with two other Polish language teachers. He decorated his corner of the office with posters, flowers and books. On his table stood a work computer, a mess of papers, textbooks and stationery.

“Hello, please sit down,” Jaskier was still typing into his computer, “Be with you in a minute. Tell me for who you’re here, please.”

“Cirilla Riannon,” the deep voice said.

“Alright, so Radomirowa, Redaniowii...” he reached out and kept looking through folders stacked beside him on the table, “Ahh, Riannon, here!” he exclaimed and turned to face, apparently Cirilla’s father.

“I’m-” he gulped, “I’m Julian Pankratz, the polish language teacher. Nice to meet you, Mr Riannon,” he said as he extended his hand.

Cirilla’s father took it, “Nice to meet you, Mr Pankratz, however, my name is not Riannon. It’s Rivia. Geralt Rivia.”

 _That’s why he was familiar,_ Jaskier’s mind screamed, “G-Geralt?” he uttered, confused, “Geralt from the renaissance fair? Geralt the Witcher? _The White Wolf_?”

“And I take it you’re that annoying bard, who wrote that damn _Toss a Coin_ Song.”

Jaskier laughed relieved. This was going better than he ever imagined, “Yeah, that’s me. Not my best writing to be honest, but I wrote it in ten minutes or so. You saw me!”

“Ciri mentioned her polish teacher resembling you.”

“And was she right?” Jaskier smirked at him.

Geralt, ignoring his attempts at personal conversation, switched to the actual reason he was here, “If we’re on the first-name basis now, tell me how’s Ciri doing, _Julian_.”

If Jaskier at first thought this was going well he would gladly take his statement back. Why can being called by his birth name by an acquaintance always hurt him a bit? Though he downplayed it and with a wave of his hand as he playfully shot at him “Only if you would call me Jaskier.”

“Then go on _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt chucked, actually chuckled, and Jaskier could swear that his laugh and his name slipping from his lips felt so… so… indescribably beautiful and mind you that this was coming from Jaskier, who carried the gift of the silver tongue within himself. Making a poet being wordless is truly an achievement.

Jaskier flashed Geralt a small smile and then shifted into his so-called ‘professional’ mode.

“Ciri is well… a quiet and good behaved kid I don’t see any problem with her performance at class,” he took the folder and spread papers on the table in front of Geralt, “Regarding her grades I see no problem with literature, she’s a bright one, on the other way she’s not good with grammar, always fumbling her dictates.”

“Hm,” Geralt was looking at Ciri’s tests closely, “Does she pay attention during lessons?”

“Yeah, she does, however, I often catch her staring mindlessly out of a window.”

“I see,” Geralt said, “Everything’s new for her. We moved here recently, new city, new school, new people.”

“I get it, I-” Jaskier hesitated, “Look, I know it’s not my business here, but if her attention problems would remain, may I suggest, arranging an individual study plan for Ciri? It’ll help her as she keeps zoning out and being distracted. Believe me, I have this attention disorder and without arrangements, I wouldn’t be able to finish even primary school, not a university,” Jaskier said with a laugh because he was always laughing at himself when talking about his _disorder_. Not proud of it thus masking it with humour. Not the best coping mechanism to be honest.

“I appreciate your concern, but this is not Ciri’s case. Ciri just needs to adjust to the new life here and school as well.”

Jaskier sighed in relief, “Uh, okay, any more questions?” 

“Except for being a bard you also teach polish?” Geralt asked with a smirk.

Jaskier ran a hand through his hair and winked at him, “I’m a man of many talents, Geralt.”

“And still got the story completely wrong,” Geralt folded his arms and stared hard at his daughter’s teacher. Probably hoping for intimidation but Jaskier didn’t buy it.

Leaning closer to Geralt, he dramatically muttered, “Then correct me, oh _the White Wolf_.”

“Hm… where should I start.”

“You mean like right now?” Jaskier blinked, surprised. He didn’t think he would get this far.

“I still owe you that dinner, remember?” Geralt pulled him out of his thoughts.

This just felt too good to be true, Jaskier recalling the event beamed at him, “Right, I made money back then on the renai-”

They were interrupted by a knock on a door.

Another parent.

It seemed like their time consulting ran out.

“Yes, wait. I’m with you in a minute!” Jaskier called after them and quickly rummaged through the mess of papers on his table, finding some scrap and scribbling something on it, he handed the paper to Geralt, “Well, Geralt here’s my number. Text me details,” details about the dinner-date of course, “Now go and tell Ciri I said hi.”

“She will see you tomorrow,” Geralt stated matter of factly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jaskier laughed it off, “Tell her she was right about me being that singer from _Toss a Coin_ video.”

They parted with these words. Jaskier, no longer nervous, finished his first-ever parent-teacher meeting without being distracted. Okay, a little distracted. He’s going to go to dinner with Geralt!

Those were some big news! Immediately after finishing and coming home, he talked Priscilla’s ear off about the hot white-haired guy from renaissance fair back in summer. Ever since that fair Jaskier wouldn’t shut up about him, going on how he’s so handsome, _oh god Priscilla, his hair must be so soft_.

This accidental meeting clearly had to be destined because if it wasn’t destiny what else was it?  
  


On that long-awaited evening, he spent about two hours long facetime calling with Priscilla while he was preparing on a date, correction _a dinner_ with Geralt, that white-haired guy from renaissance fair back in summer. Jaskier asked Priscilla over facetime to help him pick out an outfit for the occasion. Priscilla firmly told him this isn’t some theatre performance for which she picks costumes and just told him to wear what he felt comfortable, the thing which will matter the most will be the light which shines from him, _how poetic_. In the end, Jaskier picked out black skinny jeans, purple sweater along with a long black coat and burgundy scarf for the chilly November's weather. 

_Don’t fool around Jaskier. It’s just a parent whose child you teach. He’s not even interested in men. You’re going to talk business with him,_ these words Jaskier repeated like a mantra for the whole bus ride to the restaurant.

They agreed on their meeting a few days apart, Geralt picked up a classic polish restaurant for their dinner, agreeing to meet in front of the restaurant. All formalities about greeting aside, they sat down and ordered food and drinks. The restaurant’s atmosphere was very homey and somewhat old fashioned, although very pleasant, it reminded Jaskier of pubs in his hometown, just without the typical stench of cheap beer and cigarettes, noises of alcohol slurred speech of drunk regulars, mostly old men, carrying through the whole street. 

The menus put down and orders made out, Jaskier, the ever-speaker, spoke up first, “You know, if it weren’t for the different surnames I would never guess Cirilla’s your adopted daughter. She’s like the apple of your eye.”

“In looks yes, but personality-wise she’s the exact copy of my ex,” Geralt stated proudly.

 _Oh, good Geralt is a single father_ , at least Jaskier thought that, “Ex-wife?” w _hat kind of life does this guy lead, married and divorced already?_

“Ex-girlfriend,” Geralt clarified. At this exact moment, the waiter brought them their drinks, put the glasses down and poured, interrupting the conversation for a while.

“How’s that even possible?” Jaskier asked when the waiter was out of earshot, “I mean, to take a child into care, while you two weren’t even married? Were you a couple back then?”

“No, we weren’t together, when Ciri came into our life. I don’t know much either, Yennefer, my ex-girlfriend, is a lawyer and she pulled some strings and took care of the adoption paperwork.”

“Your ex is _a lawyer_?” Jaskier spat the word like it held some curse, “Good thing you’re not together anymore. Can’t stand lawyers.”

“We’re still friends. The romantic relationship wasn’t for us, doesn’t mean I don’t care for Yen less.”

“Yeah, yeah...mark my words, don’t start things with lawyers, it will not end well,” Jaskier muttered in an uncharacteristic bitter voice.

“Why?”

“They’re like vultures. Sucking life from you,” Jaskier stated solemnly. And in that exact moment, the waiter appeared with their food. It was like the waiter had sensed when to appear with the food, right at the time when the conversation got serious. They put a plate of pork steak with vegetable salad in front of Geralt and a plate of fried fish with mashed potatoes in front of Jaskier. Bidding bon appetit to both of them the waiter had disappeared.

“Speaking from the experience?” said Geralt after a while, cutting his steak.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Jaskier sighed and took a bite of his fried fish, “Anyway let’s talk of something else, you mentioned you’ve just moved to Warsaw?”

“Been living here for nearly half a year.”

“Judging from the accent, let me guess, you’re from Silesia?”

“You could say that. While being no expert on accents based on your behaviour I would simply classify you as the typical Warsaw guy.”

“You flatter me Geralt, but I must disappoint you, I’m cross-country too,” Jaskier laughed. While Geralt was right, he was by no means a Warsaw native, but when asked where he was from he danced around the topic and avoided answering the question. Being ‘cross-country’ had to be a satisfactory answer for whoever who asked. If not it was their problem, not his. “Don’t beat yourself too much,” he reached to Geralt and patted him on the shoulder, “Don’t forget I’m a linguist and therefore trained in clear polish speech.”

“You also don’t seem a type so inclined in academia,” Geralt smirked. They texted a bit after that fateful parent-teacher meeting and when Jaskier told him that he, besides being a teacher he is also getting a doctorate, Geralt firstly thought he was joking. He wasn’t and Geralt found it rather the hard way when Jaskier sent him a photo of his university papers. Well what to say, he was impressed by him.

Jaskier gasped, “Geralt, who do you take me for if not for the serious and responsible scholar?”

“Hm, a fool.”

“You could talk! I wouldn’t take you for a nerdy IT guy with a soft spot for your daughter, but here we are.” Geralt was quiet, however, Jaskier caught a small smile playing on Geralt's face. They both dived in their food, while it was still warm.

“You should know, my father is both impressed and pissed at you,” Geralt said, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

“Oh?” Jaskier looked up from his now half-full plate.

“He’s happy that someone is finally acknowledging the forgotten parts of the Slavic mythology, but not in an accurate way!”

“Ahh yes. Everything has its price. However, one thing kept bugging me ever since that day,” Jaskier said, still playing with the leftover mashed potatoes on his plate, “That play, about the devil and villagers, did you write it?”

“My father did.”

“And the wolf medallion,” Jaskier said after a moment staring at it, “I saw it on you during the parent-teacher meeting, you wear it now too.”

“I wear it all the time,” instinctively Geralt touched it and rubbed his finger against the flat relief of the wolf, “It’s an amulet.”

“It suits you,” Jaskier praised, “Actually, I couldn’t imagine you without it.”

Finishing their food, the waiter came to collect their plates, Jaskier leaving about a quarter of the plate uneaten, claiming the portion was too big for him and asking the waiter to pack it up so he could take it home. Geralt suggested they could order beers, Jaskier agreed.

Once the beers were brought Jaskier continued the conversation “Liking Warsaw life so far?”

“Job wise it’s so much better here, however, I don’t think I could stay here.”

“Why? If it isn’t much personal,” Jaskier wondered. He was too curious for his liking.

“I need to find a better place to live in. My flat is too small for me, nor Ciri when she’s staying with me. I’m thinking of moving back home and Ciri will stay at my ex’s place, after all, it’s her permanent residence,” he sighed.

This couldn’t be a coincidence by now. Jaskier leaned back in his seat and chuckled, “Huh, what a funny little thing. Like destiny weaving two desperate souls together. Like-”

“Cut the poetry.”

“See, I have a fairly big flat,” Jaskier informed Geralt, “But my roommate moved out abroad last month and I, alone, from my humble teacher pay, can't afford it. There are two opinions, either I’ll move out and find myself a smaller more affordable flat, or I’ll find a roommate, but since I have no friends and you also have the flat related problem we could kill two birds with one stone.”

“You would take me for a roommate?” Geralt asked, his voice carrying uncertainty. 

“Sure, why not, it’s not like you’re a serial killer or something, even if you look scary as hell,” Jaskier laughed and took a big gulp of his beer.

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” upon hearing these words Jaskier choked and nearly spitted out his beer. 

“Excuse me what? You took that _seriously_?” he spurted out after a while and looked at the man sitting in front of him with his mouth hanging open, “In all honesty that was a very quick decision. And they call _me_ the impulsive one!”

“Anything is better than my current flat,” he simply shrugged it away.

“I believe so, but you must think about the consequences, Geralt. I’m _a teacher_ and your daughter is my _student_. Ciri would not be able to stay a week at your place, because it would also be _my_ place. Not that I have anything against Ciri, she's a sweet kid, but you know first I take Ciri as a student and vice versa, what would Ciri think about me, her teacher, being her father’s roommate?” Jaskier said seriously.

“And don’t let me start about you lawyer ex,” he continued, “What if she gets involved somehow? Can’t let that happen,” he alertly waved his finger around. 

“Anyway, let’s leave the conversation about our current flats situation for now. We’ll manage somehow,” Jaskier relaxed and again took a big gulp of his beer, “Now right to the point, tell me more about vedmaks!”

“I’m not the best storyteller, so I’ve been told,” that small smile again appeared on Geralt's lips, whenever he mentioned his daughter, even without actually mentioning her. Jaskier found it endearing.

“But I’d love to hear it especially from you,” casting his empty glass aside he leaned his head against his palm and stared at Geralt with pleading eyes.

“You could come and I’ll show you some pictures and manuscripts,” Geralt offered, to tell the truth, he couldn’t say no to Jaskier’s shining eyes, “Are you free on the weekend?” 

Jaskier gasped and his heart surely must have skipped a beat. Everything in him screamed at him to say _yes_ but he had to act sensible, “For you anytime,” Jaskier said instead, smiling a big toothy smile at him. 

One could say that the date-dinner went well. Much better than expected.  
  


“...and on this etching, you can see vedmak fighting with the legendary basilisk and on this one-” their session was interrupted by a key twisting in the lock and door slamming open.

“Ciri?” Geralt called and went to the door, “Shouldn’t you be with Yennefer?” he sternly asked.

“Yeah I should be,” the teenager confirmed, “However, Triss and Sabrina are in town over the weekend and you can make the rest…”

“Something happened between you, though you were friends with both of them?” by Geralt’s knowledge Triss and Sabrina were Yennefer’s good friends from university, now living in other cities across the whole country, however, they often were arranging meetups to catch up what’s new in life or so. 

“That’s the whole point, dad!” she whined and angrily stomped her foot, “I wanted to watch Netflix and gossip with them, but I slipped and said I have to study for a test tomorrow and they decided to conspire against me and bullied me into studying, so I went to you.”

“Hm, thinking I spare you mercy, young lady,” Geralt folded his arms and smirked.

“Of course, you can’t resist my fearful stare,” Ciri pulled up a grimace on him.

Jaskier watching this exchange between father and daughter from his spot on the sofa he couldn’t help but intervene, “Oh, what a cruel thing is done against a kid! I can’t believe it,” he shouted from the living room.

“You have a visitor?” upon another voice coming from flat Ciri perked up, “A friend over? Dad, what things are you doing when I’m not here, hm?” she probed.

“Yes, I don’t need to introduce him to you-” before Geralt could have finished his sentence Ciri slipped past Geralt into the living room where her eyes spotted a familiar person sitting on Geralt’s sofa, who immediately smiled and waved at her.

Ciri wasn’t shocked, she was surprised and amused “Dad since when did you start seeing my teacher?” she crossed her arms and smirked at Geralt.

“I’m not-”

“Actually,” Jaskier said instead, “Your dad was telling me very interesting mythology facts, on which I’ll be basing my writing.”

“What do you write about, Mr Pankratz?” she sat on the sofa next to him and looked up, her green eyes full of curiosity.

“Please, call me Jaskier, as I’m your dad’s very best friend,” a groan could be heard in the background from the said man, “And I want to write about witchers, that’s the name I made up for vedmak, your dad was telling me about. But it’s still just at the very beginning. Anyway, enlighten me, tell me from what do you have a test tomorrow?”

Ciri tossed her head aside and boringly said “From polish,” staring threateningly at Jaskier.

“Oh, shit,” Jaskier facepalmed, “I forgot about the test.”

“So, no test then?” she grinned.

“Please lend me your notes, I have no idea what I promised the test from.”

Ciri tossed him her purple notebook with a unicorn sticker on it and Jaskier went through notes, written in glittery purple gel pen. “Ughh,” he groaned while flicking pages, “Syntax. _Fuck_ syntax. No wonder I forgot.”

“Hmm,” the wheels in Ciri’s head were turning, “So, you have my notes, which you need for preparing the test and since we both don’t like syntax, how about you’ll prepare test questions now and then tell me answers?”

“Or what?”

“I know one very specific secret about you,” she grinned, quite devilishly.

“Are you bribing me Cirilla?” Jaskier raised an eyebrow.

“Sure I do, _Mr Pankratz,_ ” she stuck out her tongue at him.

“What can I do, then to comply?” Jaskier shrugged, “Yes, your _majesty_ ,” and fake bowed. Rather not risk it, in all honestly what was the secret which would Cirilla now hold against him? The possibilities were endless.  
  


“Geralt,” Jaskier yelled from the living room to Geralt, who was in the kitchen preparing a dinner for all three of them, “Tell us any sentence!”

“Can’t you see, I’m trying to cook here?”

“Write down,” Jaskier gestured to Ciri, “ _Grumpy man standing in the kitchen, told us he’s trying to cook,_ ” from the kitchen Geralt’s groan was heard.

“Now let’s break this sentence apart. Can you tell me which clause is main and which dependent?”

This went for a while, together they made up and analysed four more sentences. Jaskier did not only give away straight answers to Ciri but focused on explaining concepts to her, then made Ciri pinky promise him not to tell a single living soul about this. Geralt from the kitchen smiled at the scene of two of them hunched over papers in the living room.  
  


“So, Jaskier what kind of teacher are you when you forget about a test for which your students are by far ahead studying?” once sat at the table Ciri asked over a plate full of spaghetti.

“A forgetful one,” Geralt answered, mouth full of spaghetti.

“Geralt! That was mean,” Jaskier gasped dramatically and pointed the fork towards Geralt, “I’m not that forgetful. I’m just overworked, besides it’s hard to be a bard.”

“Well, last time I checked the bard's life consisted of getting drunk and laid a lot. Doesn’t seem _that_ hard to me,” Ciri cleared up.

“Geralt! Do something your daughter is bullying me!”

“I’d do, but she’s right,” Geralt tried to hold his laugh on which instance Ciri smiled mischievously.

Head put down Jaskier just dug into his spaghetti mumbling something about an apple not falling far from the tree.  
  


The following day was the day of the dreaded test from polish syntax, which Ciri aced. Now she simply hoped, alongside Jaskier, that her classmates would not get the idea that she and Jaskier collaborated on that test together. It’s going to be their secret.

What the devil didn’t want, over time Jaskier and Ciri got along so well. Firstly Ciri asked for a tutorage after school from Jaskier as she still had problems with understanding grammar concepts. Jaskier, however, delighted with the proposal couldn’t comply with the request. His schedule with both his teaching job and doctoral studies was very busy and chaotic. The only possible choice was tutorage in the evenings at Geralt’s flat. That’s where it all started and led to Geralt and Jaskier spending more time with each other and Ciri getting used to their company. Some evenings it didn’t end in explanation of basics of declension of adjectives but rather in a movie night with three of them. 

At first, Geralt insisted on paying Jaskier for Ciri’s lessons, but Jaskier firmly declined “No Geralt, you needn’t pay me, when I always get dinner from you.” It took months when Geralt finally proposed the offer of moving in with Jaskier to Ciri, asking for her permission, because this decision will also concern her and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Upon hearing the news Ciri beamed and hugged Geralt “You wouldn't be lonely anymore. I always feel bad, when I leave. Now I don’t have to worry about that anymore.” After that, it was left to Geralt to break the news to Jaskier, who was overjoyed upon hearing this news and in joy threw arms around Geralt’s neck.

As things were starting to settle out and boxes, Geralt’s things, started appearing in the flat, after months of writer’s block Jaskier finally felt a spark of inspiration and motivation growing inside him. The ideas growing and sketching itself out more and more by each day. One day he finally sat down, took out the lute from its case, tuned it in and for hours was lost in the verses and metaphors, notes and harmonies telling the story of a lone wolf taking little orphaned, but a quite ferocious princess under his wings, or paws in these case.   
  


“I was thinking,” Jaskier was once again sitting in his dissertation supervisor’s office, facing him after months of radio silence, “It’s like a thought back in my mind. I could actually play a storyteller and centre my book about ballads of witchers. It would suit my topic and retell real-life situations in the form of ballads. Adding some contemporary elements to it,” Jaskier looked up and his blue eyes were shining “I think, I’ve found my _muse_ ,” he grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The analysis of _Toss a Coin_ i have from [this](https://www.inverse.com/entertainment/my-poetry-professor-called-jaskier-from-the-witcher-an-untalented-beginner) site
> 
>  _1.C / 2.A_ \- the system of classification classes in polish schools. The number marks the grade and the letter, or in some cases, a combination of letters, marks one group of students, e.g. there're 20 newcomers to school in 1.C and the graduating class 4.B has only 15 students  
> 


	3. poeta & czarodziejka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _poet & witch_

In the middle of night Geralt, the ever light sleeper, woke up to Jaskier’s moaning, thinking he just needed to change a fresh cold cloth on his forehead.

Through the last days, Jaskier was complaining about a sore throat and headache but waved it off like it was nothing. Still went to work and his university classes defending himself by saying “Geralt, right now I teach romanticism and you know that’s my favourite topic. I can’t let any other teachers teach it. This topic is mine!” Unfortunately, his work consisted of talking all day and instead of letting his throat rest, he kept straining it, till it exploded. 

It got to the point, where today Geralt had to pick up Jaskier from school himself because Ciri texted him that Jaskier was looking much more horrible than the other day and was in no state of being at school, nor teaching a class. Arriving at school Geralt found Ciri sitting with Jaskier in his office with cafeteria tea Ciri brought him. After sternly telling Geralt to take care of Jaskier, she hurried back to her lessons. Arriving in their shared flat, which was for Jaskier one big blur, and Geralt forcing him to swallow some cold medicine, which he fetched from the kitchen cabinet, the brunet fell into restless sleep full of tossing and turning. 

Jaskier was drifting in and out of consciousness for the whole day. Day turned to night and it was _a horrible_ night for Jaskier.

Suddenly, Jaskier jolts up awake. He wakes up in cold sweat, panting. His throat is killing him. He can’t swallow. He can’t breathe. It’s like his throat is closing and he can’t draw a breath and everything is blurry even the figure of a white-haired man sitting in front of him holding him firmly by shoulders.

“...in and out. You’re doing good. In and out.” 

“G-Geralt...” Jaskier weakly rasps clutching his throat, “Hurts...”

Geralt gently put Jaskier’s hands away.

Jaskier is sitting in front of him, sniffling, teary-eyed, whimpering and clutching his throat. Geralt feels for fever and finds Jaskier burning up. He winces and is at loss for what to do. He can’t give him more medicine and cold cloth is not working. Maybe a cold shower could help.

With this thought in head, he stands up, takes a glass of water from the nightstand and passes it out to Jaskier’s trembling hands, “Here, drink this. I’m going to prepare a cold bath for you,” and with this, he disappeared in the bathroom.

Jaskier tried to swallow room temperature water, which Geralt gave him, but he couldn’t, his throat felt like shards of broken glass. Upon swallowing his throat spammed up and it hurt so bad. It was like piercing hot white pain flashing through him. Jaskier was shaking and clutching his head in hands while he was trying to swallow a small sip of water. Swallowing a small sip of water led to a scream from pain.

Upon hearing Jaskier’s scream Geralt sprinted back to the bedroom. Jaskier was sitting on the bed, shaking, whimpering. Miserable.

“That’s it. I’m getting help,” said Geralt, already bundling up Jaskier in blankets.

After shutting off the water and draining the already half-filled bath, taking his shoes, coat and car keys Geralt then picked Jaskier up and carried him out of comfort from their shared flat to his car outside.

“G’ralt, where’re we goin’?”

“To get help,” said Geralt as he positioned his roommate on the passenger's seat, buckled him in, fixed blankets around him and stepped on the gas.

He was driving him to Yennefer’s place. In addition to being a quite powerful lawyer, she knew her ways with herbs. Her hobby was picking herbs and then taking time in drying and further handling them and lastly making natural remedies from them, which she was selling online or sharing in the neighbourhood. Geralt had experienced magical effects of Yennefer’s natural remedies several times, including her extra strong herbal mixture for sore throats and ointment, which she rubbed on his neck and numbed the pain. He hoped she had those stuff in stock at home and further he hoped that she wouldn’t kill him for waking her up in the middle of the night. 

The common sense in him was itching to take him to hospital. But what good it would have done, they would have to wait in the cold waiting room illuminated by overly bright fluorescent lights for a doctor, if they even had bothered to come, to tell them it’s just a fever and a sore throat and send them home, saying come back tomorrow. Geralt didn’t want to stress Jaskier more and make him go through this. God, he was growing _soft_.

Glancing at Jaskier next to him, who was still shivering, despite two blankets, and blankly staring out of a window “Hold on for a while,” said Geralt as he sped up. He was lucky that Warsaw’s roads during the night were not as busy.

Parking in front of Yennefer house, he fled out of the car gathering the still shivering Jaskier, now asleep, in arms and ran out to ring the bell at Yennefer’s gateway. Praying she would answer him, he should at least text her ahead or call-

“Who is it?” Yennefer’s tired voice ran through the intercom.

“Yen! It’s me Geralt! Open, it’s an emergency,” Geralt shouted in an urgent voice.

“What kind of emergency?” she yawned.

“I’ll tell you, just open, _please_.”

This desperation in Geralt’s voice had to convince Yennefer that this was indeed something serious, so without more questions, she buzzed him in and immediately Geralt swiftly raced to Yennefer’s house entrance, just as Yennefer had opened the front door and Geralt slipped in with Jaskier in his arms.

“What’s wrong with him?” Yennefer was in her pyjamas, over which she threw a silk black robe, slippers and her black hair was messily tied up, “That’s the new roommate _friend_ of yours?”

“Fever. Sore throat. He has a problem swallowing even a small sip of water, instead of cries out in pain,” Geralt ignored the second question, focusing only on Jaskier’s health.

Yennefer hasn’t even taken a proper look at Jaskier instead she ordered, “Get him settled in the guest room. I’ll go fetch herbs,” heading towards the kitchen.

Minutes later Jaskier was laid on the huge bed in the guest room. Geralt arranged blankets around him, put a fresh cold cloth on his forehead, while Jaskier was still unaware of the fuss around him. The unexpected restlessness in the house even woke Ciri up. She grew worried upon sight of Jaskier, dead to the world, in their guest room. Geralt calmed her down saying that Jaskier has _only_ a painful sore throat and he brought him to Yennefer to relieve his pain. And then sent sleep-tousled Ciri back to sleep with saying Jaskier will be alright in the morning. _Hopefully_ , he thought.

Yennefer burst into the guest room, nearly twenty minutes later, carrying a tray with the steaming mug of herbal tea and a jar of herbal ointment and thermometer.

“Yen, I doubt he will drink the tea in his state,” Geralt shook his head.

“I’m aware of that,” said Yennefer, “I’m going to rub this herbal ointment on his neck now to lessen the pain and then when he wakes up I’ll give him the tea. Firstly, I want to check his temperature.”

She stuck the thermometer to his mouth and waited, after a while, it beeped, “39.6 °C. That’s not good,” she frowned.

Going on with the checkup, “No wonder he can’t swallow,” Yennefer exclaimed, stopping rubbing soothing menthol paste on his neck, “His neck lymph nodes are badly swollen!”

“Can you do something about it?” Geralt asked voice laced with worry.

“We need to bring down his temperature and make him drink at least something!” Yennefer exclaimed, not feeling satisfied with Jaskier's condition at all.

Next hour was spent with Geralt and Yennefer changing several cold cloths on Jaskier’s body. Forehead, chest, arms. Jaskier was restless, breathing heavily and mumbling something unreconcilable about syllabic verses and elves under his breath. He managed to wake up for a while and Yennefer used this opportunity to make him drink, now cold, herbal tea. Jaskier managed two small sips before crying out in pain and slipping back to unconsciousness.

At least he managed to drink something and his temperature dropped to 38.8 °C. Upon this small success, both Geralt and Yennefer fell into a restless sleep.  
  


Jaskier wakes up in a daze. Squinting his eyes, trying to shake off the blurriness of the room. He notices he’s in an unfamiliar bed and room. He looks around and sees a raven-haired woman staring out of a window. Merely the sight of her is enough of making him feel very scared, hurting and vulnerable right now. The woman turns her head towards him and Jaskier notices her cold stare. The cool morning light of an overcast day gives her eyes a purple undertone.

“ _A witch,_ ” he yells in surprise, trying to untangle himself from blankets and sheets resulting in falling from the bed. The apparent witch woman ran to him and tried to help him back to bed, saying something to him, but he ignored her and swatted her arm away, “You’re a witch and you have sent _a curse_ on me!” 

“I admit I’m not in my best shape right now, I didn’t sleep last night because of you. This is how you act to someone who spent all night caring about you? How rude,” the scary woman expressed in not the very nice way.

Tears forming in his eyes, Jaskier sniffled. 

“Look, I-” she put her hands in a defensive pose like she would be approaching a hurt animal.

Jaskier looked at her with tear-stained eyes “W-wh’t goin’ on?” he croaked.

Something broke in Yennefer, “Geralt brought you in last night because your temperature was dangerously high and you couldn’t swallow. We managed to lower the temperature and relieve you of throat pain for a while. Remember?” she looked straight into his scared eyes.

Jaskier shook his head, “Geralt?” he croaked, wincing upon swallowing.

“Yes Geralt,” she spoke in a soft voice, “Geralt went to drive out Ciri to school, pick groceries on his way back. Actually, he should be back in a minute,” she quickly added before Jaskier could have asked.

“You gave us a fright yesterday,” changing the topic, Yennefer felt for his forehead as she helped him to climb back into the bed and winced upon finding it still hot, “No wonder you’re accusing me of witchcraft little _buttercup_.”

“Here drink this,” it was a reheated herbal tea at room temperature from yesterday. Jaskier took the mug from her arms and was taking small sips, wincing and groaning in pain upon swallowing.

The opening of the front door was heard from downstairs, “I’m back Yen!” shouted Geralt.

“Coming!” yelled Yennefer, “Be right with you buttercup,” she said softly while ruffling Jaskier’s hair.  
  


“Ciri helped me pick out canned soups, soft foods and juices for Jaskier,” Geralt was in the kitchen, unpacking groceries, “Afterwards I drove Ciri to school, went to school and told the secretary to let headmaster know not to except Jaskier at school for the next week, then I stopped at the clinic to pick up order number for him,” finishing unloading one bag of groceries he put the bag aside, “Is he awake yet?” he dropped the question, which hung in the air.

“Yeah, awake and accusing me of being a witch,” Yennefer was putting canned soups in the cupboard reserved for cans, “Is this normal for him? Should I be worried you dropped him on the head during the drive here yesterday?” she gave him a small smile to lighten up the situation a bit.

“Very fun, Yen,” he groaned, it was not a good time for jokes.

Yennefer sighed, “His temperature has risen to 39.4 °C and he still won’t drink anything.”

“ _Fuck_. I’m taking him to the doctor right now.”  
  


The car ride to the clinic was much longer because it was a peak hour. The roads were filled with people driving to work, school or other important appointments. During the drive, Geralt kept stealing glances at Jaskier, who was a mess. Sweaty hair plastered on his forehead, Geralt’s big hoodie over his crumpled pyjamas, fuzzy socks and shoes. Yennefer had given him one of her silk shawls and wrapped it around his neck. Black shawl, obviously.

“Why did you leave me with the insane witch?” with voice raspy and hoarse, these were the only words Jaskier uttered to Geralt the duration of the whole ride. Then he switched to pouting.

Arriving at the clinic and waiting their turn, which wasn’t long as they had an order number Geralt spent persuading the doctor to let him into the examination room to explain details of Jaskier’s illness, as Jaskier struggled to talk and was so out of it to remember much from last night. After long minutes of talking about GDPR and other official ordinances, the doctor finally allowed it. Geralt breathed in relief.

Examining Jaskier’s throat and neck the doctor has indeed confirmed Yennefer’s suspicion of swollen lymph nodes. After running some tests the doctor diagnosed him with a bad case of tonsillitis, prescribing him antibiotics and painkillers for his throat, recommending drinking a lot of water, not talking much and two weeks of rest at home.

Stopping by a clinic pharmacy to pick up Jaskier’s medication, Geralt then drove his sick roommate back to Yennefer’s place. After giving him the first dose of antibiotics and painkillers Jaskier fell asleep. This time his sleep, despite still running a fever wasn’t that restless.

Nearing evening Jaskier woke up, his throat feeling scratchy and dry. On the nightstand he saw a glass of water prepared for him, he reached for it and drowned it all in one gulp. He was so thirsty he didn’t notice how his throat spammed upon this act. He had to make some kind of noise because Geralt burst into the room. Immediately reaching for Jaskier.

“I…” Jaskier struggled, “I-I’m s-s’rry...”

“That’s okay. How are you feeling?” Geralt was crouched near the guest's bed, looking up at its occupant. 

The noise, which alerted Geralt, was the sound of glass falling on the floor. Jaskier noticed this as Geralt put the glass back on the nightstand.

“Where am I?” Jaskier was panting. Disoriented. Confused.

“We’re at Yennefer’s house,” Geralt assured him.

“I don’t-”

Geralt stuck a thermometer in his open mouth and waited till it beeped. Jaskier was glaring daggers at him.

“38.2 °C, it’s getting better,” he said quietly checking the digits on the thermometer.

“Did I break it?” Jaskier probed, ignoring whatever Geralt was saying.

“What? You didn’t, why are-”

“Cracked?”

“No,” by now Geralt was growing concerned.

“Are you angry?”

“Why would I be?”

 _“Because I dropped it!”_ Jaskier shouted, but his voice was so weak it cracked upon the last syllable.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier firmly by shoulders, looking directly into his hazy blue eyes, “Jaskier, what is going on? You’re scaring me.”

“Let me go!” Jaskier exclaimed, trying to squirm off Geralt’s strong grip.

“Where would you want to go?”

 _“Let me go!”_ he squirmed even more.

“I let you and see how you ended up!” Geralt snapped in frustration and immediately regretted it.

_He was just a little child. His parents controlled his every move. No Julian, you can’t go there. No Julian, stop talking such nonsense. No, Julian, don’t do this, what would people think of us. His father was holding him in a tight grasp, not letting him play in the dirt with other children, because it would ruin his so-called reputation. His mother kept constantly explaining to him what mistakes he made when choosing this life, how would ruin her business reputation. They always had power over him. They didn’t let him do anything._

“No, stop it!” he cried, tears already filling his eyes, “Please... _mom_ ,” and those were the last words he let out before going limp.

Geralt released him and stared in shock at him. Yennefer came running, “I heard everything,” she kneeled and held Jaskier’s hand “What’s going in that head of yours buttercup,” she said as she kept running her hand through his hair.

After the outburst Jaskier’s sleep was plagued with nightmares, he kept tossing and turning. Geralt and Yennefer were checking on him, putting cold cloths on his forehead, arms and chest. Yennefer even put lavender oil in the aroma lamp, to calm his sleep. In the early morning hours the fever finally broke off and everyone sighed in relief.

When Jaskier woke up the next day in the midmorning he was still feeling tired and weary. Clothes were sticking to his body, but his head was so much clearer and he wasn’t so hot anymore, instead, he felt a shiver run down his back when he pulled off blankets from himself. His throat didn’t feel like the shards of broken glass anymore but rather as rough sandpaper, which was progress. Then he remembered where he actually was and the anxiety of last days’ events, although hazy, started to slowly return. He can’t face Geralt now, maybe it would be better if he’d pretend he doesn’t remember much-

A soft knock on the door disturbed him from his thoughts. Then the door opened and there stood Geralt with Ciri in the tow. “Jaskier? You awake?” Geralt softly called.

“G’ralt? And Ciri? H-how?” he shuddered, voice thick with sleep and hoarse from illness.

Jaskier saw Geralt whisper something to Ciri and she ran off, then he came to sit at Jaskier’s bedside, “How are you feeling?” he asked like it wasn’t obvious just from looking at him.

“I’m _fine_ ,” a lie, what else, but Geralt wasn’t fooled by him.

“Then how about some food?” the sound of Geralt’s voice suggested this wasn’t a question, it was a statement he couldn’t disobey.

“Not hungry,” Jaskier huffed, crossing his arms, looking away.

“You’ve barely eaten for the past two days. Come, Ciri is heating up soup for you,” Geralt gently urged and Jaskier was too exhausted to further argue and gave in. With Geralt’s help, Jaskier stumbled into the kitchen downstairs, where the bowl of steaming soup was prepared for him.

“As soon as you've eaten, you could take a shower. It would make you feel better,” Geralt offered, slicing down bread and passing it to Jaskier.

“ _What?_ ” Jaskier dropped his spoon and looked around him, seeing his clothes draped over the chair in the corner, “Why are my things here?” he raised his voice resulting in a pathetic squeak. His desire to bang his head on the table was growing with every minute.

“We’re staying here till you get better. End of conversation,” Geralt stated and Jaskier sighed, damn he was tired, he was hungry and the soup was actually very good and the bread dipped in the soup tasted heavenly. It indeed soothed his throat, even if the swallowing was still a struggle. 

“Fine. But I’m not coming out of that room,” Jaskier decided and Geralt had to agree with him.  
  


Jaskier was staying at Yennefer’s place, involuntary. Though he couldn’t complain. Geralt brought him his things here, clothes, toiletries and most importantly his laptop and headphones. He didn’t bring lute, because Jaskier would try to play and he had to rest now. So he was resting, sleeping or mindlessly scrolling through the internet. He tried to do something productive such as writing an essay for his class. He soon gave up on this idea as the antibiotics were making his head fuzzy. Instead, he settled on rewatching his favourite TV show _The Office_ , which he has now fully memorised. It was light and easy to follow for his already unfocused brain. On one occasion Ciri had joined him and Jaskier was determined to introduce her to such a masterpiece as _The Office_.

“Hey, we have a bigger TV downstairs, you coming?” Ciri suggested one day, “And the whole house to ourselves!” which convicted Jaskier to move from the comfort of the guest room to the enemy territory, known as _the living room_.

After three episodes, Ciri has decided to take a break for snacks. She fled to the kitchen and grabbed two packs of fruit yoghurt and two spoons. Jaskier had a suspicion this was _Geralt’s_ doing, persuading Ciri to look after him. Jaskier huffed, he was perfectly competent in taking care of himself. _Thank you very much, Geralt._

“You know,” Ciri began licking the excess yoghurt from the lid, “You’re special. Geralt cares for you. He sat at your bedside for the whole night.”

Jaskier just shrugged, “He would do it for you. Yennefer also. Nothing special.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ciri argued, “But none of that right now. Press the play!”  
  


During his stay, Jaskier kept thinking about how Yennefer’s house’s decor mirrored Yennefer’s style perfectly. Furnished in modern minimalistic style, dominant colours being black and white with a small touch of purple. Upon the first glance the house gave out the impression of a cold empty impersonal place, however, in reality, the house looked cosy and lived in. On the wall were framed pictures of Ciri and Geralt and various knick-knacks scattered around the house. The house smelled of scented candles and oddly enough of lilac and gooseberries. Jaskier dimly remembered purple and white blooming lilacs trees welcoming him near the front door, but that didn’t explain the strong gooseberry smell.

The kitchen might have been greenery. Dried herbs were hung everywhere, fresh herbs in flower pots on the sunny windowsill, finding use both as a decoration and an ingredient for food, and in Yennefer's case also as an ingredient for natural remedies. One cupboard was reserved only for various oils, pastes and vials and other tools which Yennefer used for the preparation of herbal remedies.

However, the most important part, the heart of Yennefer’s house, was the backyard garden. Maybe that’s from where the strong gooseberry scent was coming from. Through the window of the guest room, Jaskier had a good view of the whole garden. He saw no picture-perfect designer garden, no clipped ornamental trees, no always freshly mowed lawn. Instead, he saw a garden, which he could describe as vigorous, free, full of many shades of green, nature taking over the garden. A place where wild weeds were welcomed and wanted. A garden well cared for. 

It looked like it belonged to someone who maintained the garden with passion. To Jaskier, it reminded him of his grandmother’s garden, which was always safe and happy for him. It felt strange, considering this was the enemy’s garden but observing the garden filled him with a warm feeling. Not like looking at the empty garden all made with human intervention at his parent’s house. 

Maybe it was all just an allegory for Yennefer’s character. Cold on the outside and fiery and lively on the inside. Jaskier will think about it later when his head will be clearer. For now, he was sitting in the living room taking a moment to observe the house while waiting for Ciri, who had texted Jaskier earlier she had forgotten her keys before going out. Right now Jaskier kept staring at the said keys, which were thrown on the coffee table in the living room, on them attached the same wolf medallion as Geralt has, using it as a keychain. Or was it the same one? Looking upon the medallion scrutinizingly it did indeed look almost the same as Geralt’s, however, the wolf on Ciri looked different. Maybe it was a she-wolf? Or a wolf cub?

Tearing apart thoughts about medallions Jaskier noticed that Geralt had brought his things also. Is he moving out already? _Nevermind I knew he wouldn’t have stayed. Nobody does. It’s not like-_

“Something is troubling you,” he was disturbed from his swirling thoughts by Yennefer appearing from _god where,_ “Care to share?” she sat on the opposite side of the sofa. Jaskier could have sworn that he was certain he was home alone. Apparently, he wasn’t. _Dammit._

“I have _a sore throat_? If you haven’t noticed by now,” Jaskier snapped, though with his raspy voice it sounded more funny than angry like he intended.

“I mean like in the head,” Yennefer said, demonstrating with pointing her forefinger at his forehead. 

“Oh yeah, I also have a headache. Happy now?” Jaskier replied, immediately withdrawing even further from her.

“Not like that,” she sighed and kept quiet. They both sat in the uncomfortable silence. Until Yennefer broke it. 

“Hmm, buttercups,” she said, pointing at his tattoo on his left forearm, which kept peeking from the slid off sleeve of his too-big hoodie, Geralt’s hoodie to be correct, just borrowed. This got his attention, “ _Jaskier_ , am I right?”

“H-how do you know that?” he gaped at her. Seems like Yennefer connected the dots.

“I know old polish. Mostly I know it from studying old polish legal documents. But ever since I started to interest myself in herbs, most of the old receipts were written in old polish, and as you know flowers are the main ingredients,” Yennefer explained.

“Ciri told me a lot about you and she always calls you by the nickname. It sounded familiar, I swore I heard it somewhere, I just couldn’t figure out where. Then incidentally one day I was looking through the herbary looking for one specific herb and randomly I opened the herbary in the _letter J_ section and then I knew.”

The most rebellious thing Jaskier had done, yet, was impulsively stumbling to a tattoo saloon in Nowy Targ and getting buttercups tattooed on his left forearm. Jaskier and his girlfriend, back then, Anarietta had another argument, which ended in another breakup. Over time, he admitted that this doing was reckless and he wasn’t exactly sober, nevertheless it could have ended much worse. He could have tattooed words from his old poems, which he hates now. Buttercups are special to him. He owes his identity to them. The tattoo was the symbol for choosing his own path. Jaskier wasn’t like _them_ , the vultures.

He didn’t tell Yennefer this.

It wasn’t like Jaskier didn’t trust Yennefer, she was being nice to him. Hell, even let him stay at her house and was nursing him to health. Even his own _mother_ wasn’t that kind to do that when he was sick as a child, she had prefered work over him and that was reasonable, she works at a high position and why would she risk it over a whiny sick child. He was wary, the control point in his head started to flicker every time he wanted to give in. She’s a lawyer and Jaskier detests lawyers, for a personal reason. But she is so nice to him. He sighed. He could just give in. 

“Just an old nickname which stuck,” Jaskier shrugged. There was no point in lying anymore, she knew his secret. It wasn’t secret per see, but it wasn’t something he was willing to share with his archenemy. _Or was she the archenemy anymore?_

“I believe it’s a good conversation starter. Haven’t seen many men sporting flower tattoos. Suits you,” Yennefer commented, “Fancy a tea?” she offered and Jaskier nodded and thus Yennefer disappeared to the kitchen.

After while Yennefer came back with a mug of herbal tea for him and for herself she grabbed a bottle of wine, “Why do you hate lawyers so much?” she settled on the sofa next to him, closer than before but still keeping a distance.

Jaskier sighed, the cat is out of the bag now and he may as well give in. He’s good with words, he may dance his way through this conversation, even if speaking right now is painful. “Well…I grew up surrounded by lawyers,” he fidgeted with the black shawl on his neck awkwardly, “I guess it left a mark on me.”

“Meaning?”

“I don’t know... the way they think and act?”, Yennefer encouraged him to go on, “Like I was always told I’m not good enough, that I’m wasting time with my music or studies, it won’t make me any money. Without power, I’m no one.”

“I suppose I’m not much innocent, either,” she sighed, “Once I was like them. Hungry for power.”

Jaskier was looking at her, although she was looking straight away swirling the wine in her glass, “I don’t want to bore you with details of my childhood, let’s just say it wasn’t great.” Yennefer simply shrugged it off as if it were nothing, though Jaskier knew it wasn’t just _nothing._

“I felt controlled, always the puppet on who somebody above me was pulling the strings. I wanted to be powerful. Respected. Beautiful,” she stressed, “I’ve been wronged in my life, I felt unfair. I wanted to get revenge. I crafted this version of myself to stand above someone and as you poets would say, hold their fate in my hands. It was all a mask.”

“Power was what drove me. Despite my power, I still wasn’t satisfied. I wanted more. Wanted everything. I fought my way to get to the position where I’m now and for what? Sitting in a court full of idiots, where you’re still put down because you’re simply _a woman_?” she spat with a distaste, “Then I met Geralt,” something akin to smile appeared on her features.

“We’ve been a thing for a while. It’s been blissful. However, as soon as I found out Geralt’s ties to his godchild I got furious and left him. Not a wise decision on my part.”

“What made you change your mind?” Jaskier asked.

“Glad you asked,” she smiled, “Ciri did.”

“Despite all of my power I still wasn’t satisfied. I wanted more. Wanted everything. But what more could I have wanted?”

Jaskier suspected by the intonation of her words, this was, in fact, a vulnerable subject for her. Even though his head was swirling with thousands of questions. He let her speak. And she spoke with the raw emotion carrying through her voice.

“Geralt came running to me with Cirilla. He needed help raising her and Ciri needed a woman’s hand. At that moment I knew I’d do everything for that girl and I’ve found out what I was missing. Eventually, me and Geralt made up. It was a bumpy road. We couldn’t afford to argue and stare daggers at each other when we had Ciri in care. Ciri needed love and support and needed us as her surrogate parents. We talked about the issues between us and decided to dig the battle-axe between us.”

“But you still were broken apart, and still are. Doesn’t seem like a happy ending to me,” Jaskier couldn’t help to point out.

“Life isn’t a love poem, _bard_ ,” before Jaskier could jump in to defend himself Yennefer continued, “I dreamed of being important to someone and in the end, I got my wish. I’m not saying the relationship with Geralt was a mistake because weren’t for it, we wouldn’t stand here today. The relationship just wasn’t for us. We were both young, reckless and didn’t know what we wanted from life. It wasn’t necessarily a walk in the park, but if all this led to gaining a beautiful daughter, best friend ex-boyfriend, then I consider myself happy.”

“No power could ever bring me this happiness. But shifting the power can. At least give a nudge in the process. In law school, they teach you how power is everything, controlling the power, not much. Having power is one thing, second is knowing how to handle power. That’s where most fail and abuse power. And that’s what was the hardest thing to realize and even harder was adapting to it. There’s nothing wrong with having power, the key is using power wisely.”

“Throughout my career, I’ve resolved many cases, which I thought were the most exhausting and messy. Nothing in my training and career prepared me for Ciri’s case,” she leaned back in her seat, “Ciri’s case was the real hardship, Geralt isn’t her direct relative, by blood they are not related at all so, in Geralt’s case, the legal guardianship of Ciri was nearly an impossible task. Thus I did everything in my power so Geralt could become Ciri’s legal guardian,” she paused and drowned the half glass of wine she was holding, “To be honest with you, most of the things I did were not much legal, to begin with, but I had to risk it and wangle my way through official adoption paperwork, Ciri’s and Geralt’s documents. I couldn’t just stand here and watch Ciri being taken into some orphanage. It would break her heart, Geralt’s too…” a pause, even without voicing it Jaskier knew that it would also break _her_ heart.

“I would never forgive myself if I would let it happen. They had enough suffering, they deserve happiness now,” she added quietly, nearing a whisper.

The house was silent, only the soft rustling of leaves was heard via the opened window. Jaskier didn’t trust himself to speak. For once he didn’t know what to say.

Once again Yennefer broke the silence, “Did I do the right thing legally? No. But the question is, did I do the right thing morally?”

“The sword is a double-edged weapon,” Jaskier whispered.

“And it all depends on you with which edge you’ll cut,” she sighed and shifted on the sofa looking straight into Jaskier’s eyes, “Jaskier, the thing is, a law it’s a messy thing. Prewritten codexes of rules, which are supposed to carry justice. Though it’s not as simple as it seems when so-called justice benefits the higher ones and individuals abide by it. Sometimes you find yourself standing at the crossroad of a moral dilemma, it’s a choice between legality and morality, the key for crossing this crossroad is teaching yourself how to bend the rules and pave your own path,” she grabbed Jaskier’s hand in hers, “Remember this Jaskier, nobody smart plays fair.”

The house was once again engulfed in silence, save the rustling leaves. Third time charm, Yennefer broke the silence again.

“So,” she poured herself more wine, “ _a witch?_ ”

Jaskier laughed and sipped his herbal tea, “Uhh, I mean, you managed to cast a spell on Geralt,” he said with a wink.

Yennefer smirked behind the glass.

And maybe Yennefer wasn’t that bad. He could learn to trust her.

Geralt left for work today, he had to make errands and deliver repaired electronics to clients. Jaskier was alone at Yennefer’s house, well not so much alone as Yennefer was with him. During his stay Jaskier was used to being alone with Ciri in the house when she was free from school, even Geralt was staying at Yennefer’s place fixing computers when it was possible. It didn’t matter to him where he worked. Yennefer even let him stay and sleep in the living room. 

Driving back to Yennefer’s place Geralt had a bad feeling about leaving two of them alone considering Jaskier’s distaste for Yennefer. It was nudging him the whole day. He was well aware of Jaskier’s issues with lawyers which resulted probably from his past, about which he rarely talked about despite being so talkative. 

Parking the park at his usual spot he could already hear the shouts coming from the inside of the house. Geralt, wasting no time jumped from the car and towards the house.

“No, don’t you dare!” Yennefer's voice echoed throughout the house. _Oh no_ , Geralt thought and quickly burst in, meaning to find a murder scene in the house. 

Instead, he found Yennefer, Jaskier and Ciri seated around the table in the living room engaged in a card game. Now, three pairs of eyes stared fixed on him upon his unexpected rackety arrival.

“Oh, hi dad,” Ciri chipped in.

“Don’t you just stand there dumb-faced, wanna join us or what?” Jaskier called to him. He was smiling, the spark having returned to the blue eyes of his. 

“Why not? Deal the cards,” said Geralt taking off shoes and sitting down next to everyone.

“I’ve got an idea,” Yennefer remarked, “Let’s split up and play in teams. Ciri with Geralt and Jaskier with me.”

Another moment for Geralt looking confused, good thing Jaskier spoke up, “Yes Geralt, me and Yen, jesus don’t act like the dog had bitten off your head, we’re such a strong strategist duo, so you’d better prepare for the defeat,” he grinned mischievously checking their opponents and nodded at Yennefer.

“Don’t be so sure about it,” Ciri stated, “We’ll beat them, right dad?”

“Let’s get to it,” and after that, Jaskier and Yennefer would have a lot of explaining to do.

“The winner chooses today’s movie,” Yennefer called.  
  
Afterwards, all four of them settled on a couch and put on a movie, a rom-com on which Jaskier and Yennefer agreed on. Ciri made popcorn and the smell of fried corn carried throughout the whole house. During the movie, Jaskier’s eyes started to drop and he rested his head on Geralt’s shoulder. Still exhausted from his illness in a matter of minutes Jaskier was fast asleep on Geralt’s shoulder, breathing evenly. Geralt smiled and pulled a blanket around Jaskier’s sleeping form. He looked around and in the corner of his eye saw Yennefer and Ciri giggling at some inside joke while fighting for the leftover popcorn. He felt warmness growing inside him, such an idyllic scene, surrounded by people for who he cares the most. He got comfortable, pulled Jaskier closer and enjoyed the family time.

Wait, _the family time_. Geralt for sure was growing soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an illness like this when I was around 10 years old when I couldn't swallow even a sip of water, so this was good opportunity to use it as a alternative to Djinn's curse.


	4. morze & góry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _sea & mountains_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a quick _beach episode_ chapter, it's a mystery how it slipped into emotional confrontations and somehow ended with 14k ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The sun being high on the horizon signified nearing midday, but as stated by Jaskier, it was still early morning. The poet was currently leaning against Geralt’s car, dressed in a hawaiian shirt, colourful shorts, sunglasses on his face, a yellow kanken backpack slung over his shoulder and a lute put down next to him.

“The lute stays at home!” exclaimed Geralt emerging from the building carrying several boxes full of computer components.

“Have you ever seen a road trip without background music?” Jaskier unlocked the car with keys Geralt tossed at him and made himself comfortable in the passenger’s seat.

“Yes. I like silence,” Geralt muttered, carefully loading the boxes in the trunk.

“Too bad, I already made a playlist for our trip,” said Jaskier, already fumbling with the aux cable.

“Jaskier-”

“Oh no, I’m missing a straw hat,” the poet gasped and exclaimed in horror.

Geralt sighed, put his hands on the steering wheel and put the car into reverse so he could back off with the car to the road. “We’re going to Gdańsk to make a delivery. Not on holiday,” Geralt remained Jaskier. For at least the tenth time today. _It wasn’t even midday yet..._

“What’s the point of driving the whole way there and not going to the coast?” Jaskier argued, “Come on Geralt, loosen up a little,” and pressed play on his playlist.

Geralt simply grunted.

“I hope I can buy a straw hat on the beach,” Jaskier added to Geralt’s annoyance.  
  


Ever since ‘incident’ as Geralt referred to Jaskier illness, the said man was acting withdrawn. At first, Geralt only thought he was so busy with the nearing school year-end. Both as a teacher and as a student. He threw himself into work, so Geralt let him be, even if he was starting to be worried about him. Jaskier was stuck at the flat with papers and tests to grade, reports and essays to write and books to study. After all of it, he needed to go somewhere to clear his head. He finished all his exams and wrapped up the school year resulting in resigning at liceum, because now as for every doctoral student it was expected of him to take the role of an assistant lecturer. When all matters were resolved Jaskier could finally take a breath in relief. But even though being free of his responsibilities Jaskier seemed burned out, too passive. He hasn't picked up the lute or guitar to play nor hasn't sung anything at all. This was anything but Jaskier, not the same man Geralt was living with for half a year now.

Geralt remembered, when Ciri was younger and was feeling sad he took her with him on a car ride, which they together renamed as a quest. Together they made a quest objective, something silly like getting the ice cream or sometimes the chore, as ordinary as getting groceries, was taken as a quest. At most times he managed to lift up her spirits. He hoped with this trip he could cheer Jaskier a little, so far it was working as Jaskier was being his annoying talkative self.

He would otherwise have sent the finished commission via the post, but this commission was big and very fragile, as a result of which, Geralt agreed with the client on in-person delivery with the fact that the client will give Geralt bonus payment for willingness to drive to the opposite side of the country. And also the fact that he got this contract only because Jaskier’s university connections played a big role in this delivery trip. 

With Jaskier’s university connections they even managed to get a hold on one graphic designer, who owed Jaskier a favour still from their university days. Jaskier wrote a couple of essays for this designer and she promised him that when he would ever need something, like a cover design for his future book she would happily repay the favour. Now Jaskier contacted her with a request for promotional materials for Geralt’s business. After many sketches, they agreed on using a stylized wolf into the letter _G_ as a logo. Imitating stylized drop caps from medieval illuminated manuscripts. Agreeing to use this design on business cards as well. However, this communication with the designer went all through Jaskier, who's artistic gut Geralt trusted. While the two of them worked on design corrections, Geralt was finally working on a website for his business, so it could grow.

After many years, his business had risen. And it was all thanks to Jaskier, his acquaintances but mainly on his goodwill to make Geralt’s business better known. Geralt wasn’t asking for this, yet Jaskier insisted and dragged him into it. He didn’t deserve Jaskier, who sacrificed a lot for him and he couldn’t even grant him one trip to the coast.

Geralt sighed, he was a terrible friend to Jaskier.  
  


“-then he wrote back to me that I can’t use paired couplets instead of an inserted rhyme, can you believe it?” Jaskier went on.

Geralt tuned Jaskier out, he was well aware of his ramblings but chose to focus more on the road not the subject of said ramblings. He gave an occasional grunt to indicate he was listening.

“One time, when I’m finally satisfied with my writing and my professor is throwing off my rhyme structure!” he whined.

Geralt didn’t reply, he didn’t dare to talk about poetry, because Jaskier would shift into a full lecture about the importance of iambic pentameter in contemporary poetry or something like that. 

“Anyway, I finally connected the theory about basilisks and mirrors,” Jaskier said, changing the topic, “In my poem, the basilisk is a metaphor for human vices. The story goes like a classic ballad. You see, the village people hire the witcher to slay the basilisk. The witcher accepts the contract and trails after the beast. Meeting the beast the witcher draws his silver sword and prepares for attack. But he would have no time for the strike as the basilisk catches its own reflection in the witcher’s polished silver sword. The witcher’s silver sword here plays the role of a mirror and the witcher is the personification of virtues and-”

“But-”

“Let me finish,” he continued, “The climax is the meeting of the two contraindicatory attributes, connecting via the medium, which is, in this case, witcher’s silver sword. The witcher blinds basilisk with its own reflection, thus free from basilisk’s deadly stare the witcher serves a deadly blow to its heart. A metaphor for fighting evil with kindness.”

“How does that even work?” Geralt asked in confusion.

“Pretty simple. In the poem, I’m implying that everyone is able to stand against evil. The sword doesn’t have to serve only as a weapon but also as a mirror. Trapping the cold-blooded monster in the reflection of virtuousness.”

“And how exactly does killing the basilisk fit in this scenario?”

“If you’ve been listening closely,” Jaskier stressed, “I specifically said it wasn’t real. The basilisk serves as a metaphor for human vices.”

“Sounds pretty poetic,” Geralt reviewed.

“Well, I happen to be _a poet_ , so thanks for the compliment,” Jaskier retorted.

A chuckle was heard from the driver’s seat, “I can see that.”

“Oh, shut it. It's a pretty good poem,” Jaskier waved his hand around in flattery, “And I’m not changing the rhyme structure!”  
  


According to GPS, the drive from Warsaw to Gdańsk was supposed to take 4 hours. However thanks to two stops at petrol stations for snacks and coffee and the state of polish roads, it took around 6 hours till they saw a sign officially marking the city Gdańsk. They arrived in the city of Gdańsk during the late afternoon when the sun was still high in the sky and its beams strong as ever. The air was warm and humid, but luckily the sea breeze balanced it and one didn’t feel as hot. 

Arriving closer to the city centre began the most exhausting and annoying part of any road trip, the parking spot hunting. Finding the parking spot nearest to the client's location is always a strategy game compared to chess. Luckily, by some _devil’s luck_ , they found a parking spot not as far from the client’s location. When the commission was finally delivered and the payment was collected, Jaskier, of course, had convicted Geralt to go on lunch, after all, they both were hungry and deserved a decent meal, not just some quick snacks, like hot dogs and ham baguettes from the petrol stations. Jaskier, the self-called tactical genius, chose a restaurant on the other side of the city in the tourist area, which overlooked the sea. 

Geralt didn’t look exactly happy that Jaskier was dragging him through the whole city in this heat, but thanks to Jaskier’s connections from university he got this contract, which paid him more than any contract and it’ll make an exposure, he owns him at least this.

Finally, after what felt like ages, they were sitting in the shade of umbrellas on the terrace of the restaurant bearing the name _The Golden Sturgeon_. Jaskier took the initiative and straight away ordered two beers before Geralt could have said something. And then after a quick menu scan, Geralt ordered salmon pierogi for himself and Jaskier ordered Caesar salad.

Beers arrived quickly and due to their huge thirst caused by heat and running around the city, their beers were gone in a few gulps. As the waiter came with the food to their table, Jaskier already placed an order for the second round.

“Jaskier, eat or it will get cold, you were the one who insisted on coming here,” Geralt, who was almost finished with his meal, broke down to Jaskier, who kept staring outside, not interested in food.

“Huh,” immediately he grabbed a fork and took a bite, “I’m just observing the sea,” he spoke with a full mouth.

“The sea won’t go anywhere,” Geralt assured him.

“So won’t you, you’re already on your second beer. Ha!” Jaskier smirked.

“Fuck. You little-” Geralt swore, Jaskier was planning this all along and he fell for it. Fuck, it was the insufferable heat’s fault, that he didn’t see through Jaskier’s strategic scheming.

“What _a pity_ we have to stay here for the night,” Jaskier sing-sang in that lovely voice of his.

“Uhh, fine. But you’re paying for the room,” Geralt said, defeated, took a long swing from his beer and ordered another round. Well, if he was stuck here he could as well relax a bit too.

“Not a problem, as you’re paying for petrol,” that sounded reasonable, Geralt nodded, “Besides, I’ll still get my money back. Ask Yen,” Jaskier added with a big smirk and charming wink.

“For god's sake, introducing you two was a mistake,” Geralt sighed though it was not meant in a bad way.

“It’s not my fault you attract similar people, _witcher_ ,” Jaskier leaned across the table closer to him.

“What do you mean?”

Jaskier laughed, a cheery hearty laugh, “Well, I might not be a hot goth witch, but-”

“You’re what? Cute pastel bard?” Geralt snorted. It was clearly the combination of incoming tiredness, heat and third beer, which was making him say words, he would never, by all means, have uttered.

“Geralt!” Jaskier cheered, far too lively, “Never knew you’re so good with antonyms.”

“What the fuck are _antonyms_?”

“I believe that’s not a conversation one would have near the sea,” Jaskier giggled and wiped the beer foam from his mouth.

Right after finishing their meals and drinks, Jaskier dragged Geralt to the beach. “Geralt it’s so salty! Look at the waves!” Jaskier called to him with a childlike wonder carrying in his voice, already ankles deep in the water. He laughed and nearly slipped as another wave crashed to him. 

Jaskier always loved the sea, to be more specific the idea of the sea. He had never seen the sea before, but he longed to see the sea and experience its atmosphere. The sea was always an ingredient of romantic expression. For poets, the sea was always a symbol of being free and also the sea itself was a character on its own. Blue, silent, sparkling, dazy, dark, misty, restless.

He experienced the mountainside of romanticism, often running away to woods and just sitting there, with his thoughts, open notebook next to him, guitar or lute in his hands and jabbering of birds, a rustling of leaves, nature sounds accompanying his strumming.

One could say mountains and sea are opposites of themselves. So alike yet so similar. Both are wrapped in a mysterious veil radiating feelings of calmness and freedom. Mountains ground you and their massive rocky hills towering above you surround you, forming a protective shield around you, however with the sea you’re crossing the boundaries of being. You don’t know where the sea’s beginning or ending is, for the sea appears endless, you’re seeing just a fracture. 

“It’s beautiful, so big and so blue… and endless,” Jaskier once again exclaimed in a childlike voice.

“You act like a child who’s never seen the sea,” Geralt firmly stated.

“Actually, I’ve never seen the sea.” Jaskier’s face turned serious for a while however it quickly changed to a surprised face as another wave crashed into him and this time he slipped and fell on his bottom to the water.

“Jaskier-”

“I’m fine, Geralt,” he giggled, stood up from the water and flopped in the warm sand next to Geralt, “Now we have to sit and wait here till my clothes dry off,” he smiled mischievously. 

Geralt didn’t say anything, just kept sitting and eventually relaxed Jaskier’s company. He had to admit, it felt nice, sitting like this without a care in the world. They deserved this moment.

 _“Antonym is a semantic relation in which one word has a sense or meaning that negates or is, in the sense of scale, distant from a related word,”_ Jaskier recited words learned by heart years ago. Even surprised with himself he could still actually remember it.

They retired for the night to their shared hotel room, which Jaskier booked last minute when they were having a late lunch in that seaside restaurant. Their room was supposed to be a twin beds room, but the beds were so close together one could say it was a double bed room. They didn’t have the energy to deal with beds positions as they both were tired to the bone and wanted to just fall into bed and sleep. Mainly Geralt who spent the whole day behind the wheel and then the sun tired him out even more and also there was the consumed beer, which also played a role in this. On the other side, Jaskier who spent most of the ride just observing the passing scenery from the window and in doing so managed to have a monologue from poetry analysis to the state of Biedronka shop near their flat wasn’t that much tired, to begin with.

“What the-” mumbled Geralt without opening his eyes.

“Do you want the full lecture?”

Geralt just grumbled under his breath and turned to face the wall.

“Then, goodnight,” Jaskier sing-sang and then too eventually flopped down to the pillows.  
  


Something was amiss, Jaskier had woken up at dawn, which was unusual as he is a heavy sleeper who could easily sleep till noon. Geralt was often teasing him about that. The waking itself was unusual in nature as he woke up cuddled to Geralt. Jaskier could swear this was a dream, too good to be true. 

However as good as it could have seemed, it wasn’t a dream. Not counting how many times he actually dreamt about this exact scenario. This was real.

After initial reality check and pinching himself several times he grabbed his lute, spared one last look on Geralt’s peaceful sleeping face and went out. He would like to stay longer, but something was calling him. The dawn breaking on the horizon and the sky painted in pink and blue hues was luring him out. As he stepped out he was overtaken by the slightly chilly air with the wisp of sea salt. It was quiet, so quiet one could hear their own steps and as Jaskier was nearing the beach the sounds of the sea were intensifying, the whirr of waves and seagulls’ cries. 

He walked around with no clear destination in mind. The beach was empty. There he found a place where he sat down and just stared into the open sea. The Baltic sea stretching in front of him was huge and the sound of crashing waves was soothing. He closed his eyes and focused on the sea. Jaskier took deep breaths, trying to match his breathing with the sound of waves. After a moment he opened eyes in determination and took the lute, which he set aside and then let the sea guide him.

He played, no notes, just his intuition, fingers dancing on the lute strings, vibrating them with the melody of the sea. He felt an adoration, calmness and peace, which he was trying to tell via his playing. Completely giving himself in and letting the atmosphere consume him.

When he gathered his surroundings the pink hues in the sky vanished, leaving the sky pure bright blue colour. Jaskier hasn't noticed the passage of time. How long was he out? Or was he out after all?

Another unusual thing for him. On several occasions when Jaskier was stressed, overworked or anxious in general Geralt was trying to teach him to meditate. To focus, to breathe right. With no effect, leaving him only more stressed. He wasn’t able to clear his mind and focus only on one thing. His head was made of chaos, interlaced thoughts connecting to different thoughts, which they branched only further. Unable to form a simple string of thoughts.

Jaskier liked to compare his thought process to a ball of yarn. A ball of yarn at first seems like a neatly organized structure, threats organized neatly side by side, layer by layer, though by picking a single threat from this structure you disrupt the stable unit held together and so chaos emerges. 

Have you ever seen a cat playing with a ball of yarn? Then you must know that cats are embodiments of chaos. No ball of yarn survives a playtime with a cat. Cats are transforming organized threats into chaotic loops and twists. You can try to tie the unwound thread in its previous position, but you can never go back. In most cases, on the back then, a perfectly neat thread a knot appears, sometimes it’s easy to untie, in other times you need strength and patience to dismiss it, the worst-case scenario is when the knot settled so tight to the threat that it must be cut off. Cutting the mother threat in two pieces, you can tie the two ends together, but the threat will never be the same. You can throw away the cut off part of the thread resulting in losing a part of the original thread. Same happens with thoughts, some get twisted, interlocked … and some get lost forever. 

Thus, we can say our thoughts are single threads formed in a ball of yarn, which we are unweaving in the process called thinking, and when you’ll next see a cat playing with a ball of yarn, inspect it closely so you can take a closer look at how your mind operates. _Thinking is simply a cat’s play._

That was the title of Jaskier’s work for the creative writing class when he had to describe an abstract cause with a real-life analogy. Although back then it earned him _C_ , it wasn’t one of his best works, but he liked it and often thought of it when he had a bad time focusing. Now sitting here and overlooking the sea, the imaginary cat had managed to pluck one thread and carefully play with it, not to reorganize threads to the new structure.

Lost in thoughts he felt something unfamiliar being put on his head, upon turning his gaze up he found Geralt standing over him.

“Good morning, _sleepyhead_ ,” Jaskier grinned and instinctively touched the foreign thing on his head, “A straw hat!” he gasped in realization.

“Saw one while walking through the marketplace. This one screamed you so loudly I couldn’t have left it there,” Geralt told him.

He closely inspected the headwear Geralt brought him. A classic straw hat, but what caught his attention was the yellow ribbon with a flower pattern which decorated the hat. The flowers looked strangely like buttercups. And they were _buttercups_!

Jaskier sprang up from the place he was sitting and tackled Geralt in a strong embrace, “Thank you,” he beamed.

Geralt stood there frozen, shocked from the sudden hug, he wasn’t used to affection, but Jaskier was slowly breaking those walls. He hugged him back, “You know, I don’t mind staying here for a few more days-”

“-after all, we do deserve a holiday,” Jaskier finished for him and squeezed him even harder.

This time Geralt smiled. This was Jaskier he knew all along. All in all, he was no longer bitter that Jaskier dragged him into this holiday plan. Even now he was secretly happy that despite his initial complaints, Jaskier brought around his lute and even more that he started to play again.

“When you said you needed help with something I expected everything but this,” said Jaskier, who was now, against his will, posing with his lute and a bunch of dried herbs in another hand.

“Left hand a little bit higher, yes that’s right, now don’t move,” said Yennefer behind the camera and snapped the picture, “Let’s move on another.”

“Why me though? Not that I’m not flattered by this opportunity of being a model, but why me with my style, which is contradictory to witchy stuff. Couldn’t you just stand there dressed goth as ever and I’d-”

“-would go fetch a black cat from neighbours down the road?” she snorted.

“Actually, I was going to say a crystal ball,” Jaskier said with all seriousness.

“For the last time,” Yennefer stressed, “We’re making promotional photos for my website, which is an e-shop for natural remedies, not a witchcraft hobby shop as you keep bringing out.”

“You’re telling me those two things are not mutually exclusive?” Jaskier snorted.

“God, you’re insufferable,” Yennefer threw her hands around.

How did Jaskier even end up in the position of Yennefer’s photo model? Long story short, as some people like to say.

Geralt and Ciri went home for holidays to their homeland in Silesia. Meanwhile, Jaskier had some linguistic work to do, his parents' orders, and was looking forward to the undisturbed silence. However, as he soon found out, focusing behind the walls of his and Geralt’s shared flat was nearly impossible, so he made an impulsive decision to pay a visit to his good old witch friend Yennefer and use her garden as a workplace for proofreading those boring town council documents. From experience, he knew that sitting in a garden was effective for him. As it turned out for Yennefer, Jaskier came on like on call and she immediately dragged him into being a model for her photographs.

“Okay, time out,” said Yennefer after taking five more shots and being satisfied with them, “Now it’s my turn. I’m going to change into something more photogenic,” as she was dressed in an oversized house shirt, leggings and flip-flops and her hair was tied up in the messy bun.

“Alright, I’ll take a nap in the meantime,” Jaskier jokingly called after her, but she had long ago disappeared behind the walls of her house.

She returned after no more than 15 minutes, raven hair freshly brushed and fluffed, the golden hour painting it in soft orange glints. Her full face make-up highlighted her lips with crimson red lipstick and defined her eyes with dark purple eyeshadow, black eyeliner and mascara, visually making her otherwise greyish eyes appear purple. She was dressed in a black and white gothic dress, on her neck stood out a black velvet choker with the medallion bearing an obsidian star symbol inlaid with crystals, which sparkled upon the sunlight. She carried a bouquet of dried white and purple lilac flowers tied with a silver ribbon. 

“Don’t forget to pick up your jaw from the floor, _buttercup_ ,” she teased.

Jaskier, who hadn't even realized he was staring and writing an artistic flowery description of her look in his mind, shook his head and stammered, “B-but… damm Yen, you look stunning!” 

“I know,” she confidently tossed her hair, “Leave those compliments for Geralt.” 

“What-”

“Now let’s get to work, shall we?” she walked past Jaskier to sit under the gooseberry tree holding a bouquet of lilacs and stroke a pose.

What else he had to do, Jaskier took the position of the photographer and snapped several pictures of Yennefer. Upon switching the poses and taking pictures from more angles and the said witch being satisfied with photos, Yennefer gathered the photography equipment inside the house and Jaskier was free to work on the thing for which he came here in the first place.

But the thought of sitting in front of the laptop and reformulating words and sentences in boring council documents recoiled against him, instead of it he was eyeing his lute leaning against the gooseberry tree, which he brought with, of course, inviting him to far more entertaining activity. He couldn’t refuse the craving, so he went and sat in the shade under the gooseberry tree, grabbed the lute, spent some time tuning it out to a perfect pitch and then started to pluck the strings into a melody, which he started to compose while sitting at the shore and gazing into the open sea, accompanied by singing.

_Sing me a song about pirates  
and I will try to harmonise,  
sip the sunlight from your eyes- _

“It slipped from my memory that I got myself a garden gnome, even the one with implemented music features,” Yennefer giggled as she emerged from the house carrying a tray with two glasses, “Anyway, here I brought us drinks, so you can’t complain I didn’t give you anything for your hard job.” 

“Aww, the bad witch really does have a heart after all,” Jaskier made a gesture of wiping off a fake tear from his eye.

She scoffed, “You really have such a lovely voice, wouldn’t you like to stay here permanently as a garden decoration? Maybe the bad witch can enchant you into it,” she played along as she was setting the drinks on the garden table.

Drinks being homemade mojito cocktails made by Yennefer’s improved recipe, where in addition to fresh mint leaves she also adds fresh leaves of honeydew and dried rose petals, as otherwise home-grown.

“No need for magic spells. I’d like to take your offer, however tempting it is, I already have a job,” Jaskier continued in this charade.

“Well, well… aren’t artists usually complaining they are as poor as church mice,” Yennefer remarked, “And when they get an offer they turn it down,” she tsked.

“That my dear is a past. After all, this isn't the 13th century,” the said artist smirked because he knew with this comeback he won the charade.  
  


“-back when I was starting I had one client, an old man, who wanted to fill a complaint on his wife because one day per every week she cooks spaghetti. The point was he hates spaghetti,” Yennefer recalled a remarkable occurrence from her trainee lawyer days, barely keeping a straight face.

Jaskier snorted, “Sounds like a plot from an episode of _Judge Barbara_.”

“Mmm, could be,” she concluded, “Now your turn.”

“Okay… so,” he thought for a while, “I had in the class student called Lukasz, who was always sitting in the back and he never paid attention in classes and once we were reading Miłosz’s poems and he, as always, kept chattering with Tomasz sitting next to him without a care in the world. That’s where I said enough and told him to resume reading the poem, where Karolina has left. And let me tell you that was truly... uhh _something,_ ” he paused for the dramatic effect, “Not only he started reading the poem, right on the spot, but he was rapping it! Believe me Yen, that boy got tempo and intonation right! And ever since when we were reading poems Lukasz had to read it in his rap style.”

“So now at least I know who’s responsible for the current Warsaw’s rap scene,” she smirked. “And what about our dear Ciri, was she contributing to this mischief?”

“Oh no, this isn’t Ciri’s class. In my class, Ciri was behaving quite reasonably, however, her sharp sarcasm disguised as politeness directed at me could cut mists,” Jaskier pointed out.

“Wonder from who she gets it from,” Yennefer drowned her drink to hide her obvious smirk.  
  


“Admit it, you have a crush on Geralt!” As more alcohol was consumed, a bottle of wine appeared on the table from god where shifting their conversation into the more heated topics.

“No, I don’t!” Jaskier huffed and crossed out his arms.

“Aww look at you Julie, you’re blushing!” Yennefer cooed.

“I don’t do such a thing!” he whined and though denying it he was as red as a beetroot, “A-and…and that wasn’t even a question! That was an imperative!” Jaskier blabbered.

“Oh, Julie, you don’t have to be embarrassed about it. Geralt simply got it.”

“Alright, alright, I confess I may have a _liiitle_ crush. But honestly, can you blame me?”

“No, I suppose I can’t. Although, it was _a looong_ time ago,” she stretched the syllables just to amuse him, “Now I have common sense.”

“I beg to differ, Yenna,” Jaskier smirked.

“Sod off Julie!” she waved her hand in the air, “But now seriously, I’m not blind, I can see how you yearn for him, how happy and comfortable you feel around him,” she kept tracing her finger around the edge of her glass, “Have you ever thought of you two being together?” she dropped on him directly, no point of beating around the bush.

 _“What?!”_ he gasped in the combination of the shock and surprise. Could she read minds? So this was making her a witch, right? Because she dug in his head and discovered his biggest desire, hidden in the back corner of his mind.

“Alright, maybe… yes. But can’t a guy dream?” he blurted out. God even the tips of his ears were sure as red as beetroot.

“And don’t you want your dream to become reality?” she prodded.

“You know that’s not possible,” he didn’t dare to look at her, instead observed as the wind rustled the trees, “He… he has you. Why would he want _me_?” he whispered in a gloom voice.

“Hah, don’t be foolish, that idiot has only eyes for you.”

Jaskier turned to face her, confusion and question marks visible all over his face.

“Me and him, that’s ancient history,” Yennefer stated, “You need to focus on the present and believe me when I say to you that I’ve never in my life seen Geralt being so devoted and, as you like to say _put under a spell_ by anyone other than you.”

She reached and put his hand in hers. Lifted his chin so he could look her straight into eyes, “I swear Jaskier, I’d lie to you if I said that I’ve never been more sure in matters of the heart like I’m right now. It’s a sign… or _a destiny_ ,” she kept holding his hand, “Now the choice lies in your hands.”

The spoken words kept flying over Jaskier's head for the rest of the evening.  
  


“Suppose you don’t have a magic remedy for this blasted hangover? Fuck I’m getting old,” Jaskier groaned, covering his face with the decorative pillow, “Surely we hadn’t drunk that lot.”

In fact, that evening, together they drowned beside two mojito drinks, one more bottle of wine, the conversation being merry, they hadn’t noticed their alcohol consumption. When it got late, Yennefer offered him to stay at hers, he was already familiar with the guest room. However, climbing a flight of stairs proved to be an extreme activity last night so Jaskier decided to just plop down on the couch downstairs instead.

“No, we haven’t. You’re just lightweight,” she giggled and sat down next to him on the couch.

“Yen-”

“Oh, shush. Here,” she handed him a mug, “Not magic remedy, just an old fashioned ginger ale.” 

“Thanks,” he took a sip of his drink, nearly burning his tongue so he put it down on the coffee table to cool down, “Hmm, Yen?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something for a while,” he started, uncertain.

“Spill it out then,” she nudged him.

“You know, when I was staying here, back then…” Jaskier fidgeted with the hem of his shirt,

“You were giving me something, which was supposed to calm me.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. I was giving you valerian back then,” Yennefer recalled the memory, “What with it?”

“Nothing, I just… you don’t happen to have some more of it, do you?”

“What do you need it for?” she turned to him.

“Hah, what for?” Jaskier gave a pitiful laugh, “Still the same as before.”

“That bad?” she carefully asked.

“Umm… yeah.”

When Jaskier was ill and staying at Yennefer’s place, despite being exhausted from an illness he still had trouble falling asleep, and when he eventually fell asleep his sleep was restless and he woke up even more tired. After having a heart to heart talk with Yennefer, she and Jaskier got along surprisingly quickly. Being more comfortable around her Jaskier opened up to her about his troubles concerning sleep and Yennefer, thinking that Jaskier’s troubles with sleep were caused by his illness and its emotional toll, which it had on him, gave him valerian supplements every day, which had relaxation effects, thinking it was only a one-time thing. 

She wasn’t much surprised to hear that his problems were still prevailing, and that worried her because she knew it wasn’t just about sleeping problems. Maybe he truly did have sleeping problems back then, when his body was weakened by illness, but later Jaskier played that card to get a herb from her to calm the unstoppable whirl of thoughts in his mind. She didn’t blame him. She suspected that the reality of Jaskier’s problems about which he opened her up back then were only just a tip of an iceberg. The true nature of his problems was buried much much deeper.

“Wanna talk about it?” she couldn’t help but ask with a concern visible in her voice. Jaskier shook his head and Yennefer leaned closer to him and hugged him. “Alright. I won’t push you, just know if you ever want to talk I’m here for you,” he nodded, head laid on her shoulder.

“And about that valerian?” after a while he asked with an insecure waver in his voice.

“I can give you some, but so you know you can’t take it regularly,” she thought for a while, “However, instead of valerian, I can give you lavender, I believe I have some in stock. It’ll also help you with sleep and relax.”

“Thank you so much, Yen,” He stood up and was trying to smooth creaks in his sleep cradled clothes, “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t be crazy Jaskier, I won’t charge you for it. Who do you think I am?”

“A witch who can curse me by simply lifting a finger?” she hit him in the shoulder, “Ow! You’re a meanie!”

“Well, I’m a bad witch after all,” she smirked, happy that Jaskier’s cheerfulness was coming back, but his battle was far from being won.

Following weeks, thanks to Jaskier’s connections, people had more demand for Geralt’s IT services and he was getting contract after contract. Before getting acquainted with Jaskier, Geralt rarely travelled long distances to deliver clients' commissions, as all of his clientele back then was located within the 10 kilometres radius of his home village. This changed as nowadays his clientele was scattered across the whole country. Depending on the size of commission Geralt either sent in via post service or delivered it in-person. Geralt and Jaskier made a good team. Geralt delivered the commission and Jaskier putting his rhetoric skill in use often managed to negotiate a higher price or a friendly tip for Geralt’s IT technician services.

Their first delivery trip, which originally was supposed to be a one-time thing, proved itself as a good way for Geralt and Jaskier to spend time together. Now Geralt couldn’t have imagined these delivery trips without his friend and roommate Jaskier, who despite leading hours-long monologues jumping from topic to topic, was to Geralt, the ever worshipper of silence, a new embodiment of travel companionship. And when Ciri sometimes joined them on these adventures, the shenanigans were over the roof.

So far their travels lead to several castles and historical city centres, which they visited together and acted like tourists, tasted local cuisine, had ice cream together and if they were so far away from Warsaw to travel back, they book a hotel room for the night. 

Jaskier insisted that from every place, which they had visited together they needed a memento of some kind, mainly a magnet, which Jaskier then put on their fridge. Soon their fridge at home was covered in a colourful mosaic of magnets in all kinds of shapes. 

And the wilderness was no stranger to them either. Many times during warm summer nights they had exchanged the comfort of a hotel room for the roughness and mysticism of woods. Geralt built a tent and Jaskier gathered twigs and stones to set up a campsite. Soon the licks of fire were flickering in the embers, above which Geralt toasted meat and bacon pricked on the stick together with vegetables and on the other side of fire sat Jaskier perched on the log with a lute in his hands while he played and sang, some it were folk campsite songs, others his own compositions, accompanied by the background sounds of cracking wood and noise of forest’s nightlife. 

But there was one destination, which changed everything. As by Jaskier’s rule, Geralt could never reveal their final destination as Jaskier wanted it to be a surprise. Instead, Geralt revealed to him the closest big city and only after reaching it, he revealed the final destination. Jaskier’s task on these trips was to operate GPS, navigate Geralt and based on their location finding good rated local restaurants, attractions in the area and last but not least booking hotel rooms.

“Geralt, can you tell me now where we are going?” Jaskier asked like an impatient child, “You said it was somewhere near Kraków and we’re nearly there!”

“I may as well now,” Geralt muttered, “Set destination as Zakopane.”

“What?” Jaskier visibly paled and gulped. No, it couldn’t be, he just heard it wrong. It could be some village near Kraków with a phonetically similar name. Not a big deal, right?

“ _Zakopane_ , got it?” Geralt slowly repeated.

“I-I got it, but w-why there?” Jaskier shot back trying to hold back a tremble in his voice. _Just keep calm Jask._

“I want to go skiing, what do you think?” Geralt shot back sarcastically.

His worst nightmare was just being fulfilled. _This is not a time for panic, now you just need to stay cool Jaskier, you must not let him know this is your hometown and you’re going there with your friend, roommate, crush … whatever,_ he tried to calm down himself. In this town, there are people who know him, the real him, and Jaskier’s gut is telling him this is not gonna end well. Absolutely not.

“If you’re on it, you can also book us a room, since it’s unlikely we’ll get back,” Geralt disturbed Jaskier’s thought spiral.

“Uhh, of course,” Jaskier chuckled nervously, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

Wasn’t it just _ironic_ booking a hotel room in your hometown, where you basically have a place to stay? If the situation wasn’t so serious Jaskier would have laughed. Speaking of, he became so quiet after hearing the news. As the scenery was getting more familiar, which meant they were coming closer to the town he was getting more anxious.

“You’re quiet,” Geralt observed.

 _Oh, you don’t say, Geralt_ , Jaskier scoffed, “Thanks for noticing, though I’m admiring the scenery. Beautiful isn’t it?”

“Hm, if I would have looked at the scenery we would be lying stretched on the road in the puddle of blood.”

“Aww you always say such nice things, Geralt,” Jaskier said sweetly while looking out of the window trying to keep the panic at the bay. 

It didn’t end well for him.

Trees passing out. The fields. The cars. The road. It all started blurring out into one big mash and his body didn’t have time to process the rapidly changing scenery and so it protested. With nausea, dizziness and overall feeling of discomfort.

“G-Geralt, can we stop please-” Jaskier suddenly paled, clutching his head.

The combination of anxiety, which shrinks one stomach with a moving vehicle, had a tendency to make him carsick. It was not surprising, his anxiety was now sky-rocketing. His breath was probably hitching and drops of sweat were visible on his forehead.

“What?”

“Please stop,” Jaskier cried.

“We’re on the motorway, I can’t stop right now. What do you need?” Geralt cast a glance to the passenger seat, “Are you going to be sick?”

“No,” he gasped, _now think Jaskier, think_ , he kept saying to himself, o _h, that’s it,_ “Connection!” he finally uttered, “Signal Geralt, I-I need-” he didn’t have time to finish as the car pulled up and Jaskier immediately jumped out of the car, phone in his hand.

 _I just need a walk on fresh air_ , was what he wanted to say, but was too afraid to actually do it. It always helped him to calm his anxiety down and all the symptoms of car sickness resonated with it. He took a walk to a nearby field and just focused on getting fresh air in his lungs. It took a while but eventually, he managed to calm down his anxiety a little so that his stomach stopped clenching. Before going back to the car, he pulled out his phone, made some quick “adjustments” to make his act of o _h, I’ve just remembered that I have to send a very important message to this very important person. Yes right, now. What a coincidence, right, Geralt,_ believable to his companion’s eyes.

“Alright now?” Geralt asked after Jaskier climbed back to the car, his voice sounded concerned and Jaskier almost felt guilty for making him worry about such _a trivial_ thing.

“Yeah, I’ve got a connection now and managed to send the message,” he lied, but yeah, he felt a bit better now.

“Are you sure?” Geralt looked like he didn’t believe him.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Geralt hasn’t said anything since then, just started the engine and continued to drive in silence.

Jaskier closed his eyes, leaned his head against the window and was thinking about ways to flee from the town as soon as possible. He then realized that Zakopane is filled with tourists no matter the time of year, even though in winter the town is teeming with tourists the most, so he will try to stick in those touristy places and mingle among them. It was his ace in the sleeve and he counted on it.

Once in town Jaskier still felt a little bit shaky on his legs and Geralt, despite Jaskier's countless reassurances that he’s fine, kept sneaking worried glances on him. They walked through the streets of Zakopane, familiar but also unknown, till they reached the town square, where the people, mostly seniors, were gathered around the old marketplace, occupying the nearby benches and as always they were gossiping about everyone and everything.

Geralt stopped and ran a hand through his messy white hair, “Before making a delivery, shall we stop somewhere for a late lunch?”

Jaskier shook his head, “No, need. Delivery first.” _I want to be gone from this town as soon as possible_ , he thought but didn’t say out loud.

“Jaskier, what’s with you today? You’re acting weird,” Geralt declared.

The other one simply huffed and walked away.  
  


The pair of them, one grumpy and the other even grumpier, guess who is who, just walked around the old tree around, which were situated the benches occupied by the ever-present group of old ladies in pension, whose daily activities included of gossiping about everyone and everything and discussing sales in chain stores.

“I’m telling ya Irenka milk is on sale in Lidl and-” one of the old ladies spoke loudly, as to let the whole town know.

“Oy, Milka, innit that the Pankratz’s son o’er there?” the other one with thick round glasses and a fake pearl necklace, sitting next to her, interrupted the speech about sales when she saw something gossip-worthy.

“Nay, I’ve heard he moved out or somethin’,” said the one, whose trademark was badly dyed purple permanent curls.

“Oy boy, could you please come over here,” Jaskier, who was just walking by, heard the call of the two old ladies sitting on one of the benches, thinking they just needed to ask what time it was or something similar. Perfect getaway from Geralt’s preening eyes.

“Yes?” he approached them and politely asked.

“Is your name Julian?” the one with purple hair surprised him with her question.

 _Oh shit,_ and this was what he was trying to avoid for the whole time, “No, you must have mistaken me for someone, I’m not-”

 _“Julianek,_ someone else suddenly called and he knew that voice, “I haven’t seen you in ages! My boy,” an old lady with hair as curly as a sheep ran to him and started kissing him on both cheeks.

“Grandma, hi,” Jaskier awkwardly grimaced and squirmed out of her embrace.

“Why didn’t you let me know you’re in town?” she scolded him.

“I’m here on business, not staying.”

“Nonsense,” his grandma gave him a look as if she was asking a child who ate the last cookie while already knowing the answer, “Once you’re here you must stay, come visit me. Yesterday I even baked apricot pie. This year’s harvest was generous,” she spotted a white-haired man coming to stand behind her grandson, “And your friend here is also invited.”

“Here,” she quickly took a notepad and a pen from her purse and scribbled down her address handing it to the white-haired lad, who confusedly took the offered piece of paper and folded it to his pocket. The old woman then turned to Jaskier, “And don’t worry about your parents, Julek, go home, the house is all yours for now. They went to Kraków for some conferences, something about mayors from the whole Lesser Poland voivodeship meeting or so, and they won’t be back until next week,” she kept saying, “Now I leave you two alone, I still promised to drop by Agnieszka in the butcher's. You remember her right? She always snuck out a lollypop for you.”

When the old woman was lost from their earshot Geralt finally asked, “What was that?” the tone of his voice was calm, _dangerously_ calm.

“Uhh, nothing,” Jaskier shyly said while nervously shuffling his foot on the pavement.

 _“Jaskier,”_ Geralt growled.

“Please, just not now, not here,” Jaskier’s voice was small and defeated. Feeling ashamed not even having the courage to look him into the eyes, head bowed he kept staring at the cracks in the pavement.

“Let’s get back to the car, we’ll have a certain destination to attend, where you can explain all you want,” Geralt coldly stated and spun on his heel, heading to the direction where his car was parked, avoiding looking at Jaskier, who nervously gulped with a heart in his throat, because _the destination_ in saying meant his house, better speaking his parents’ house.

On any other occasion, Jaskier would be happy to navigate Geralt to his home and show him everything. Now he just mindlessly entered the address to Geralt’s GPS and let the robotic voice guide him. The drive was silent and it wasn’t the pleasant kind of silence. Jaskier’s heart was beating so hard that he was afraid it would jump out of his chest. On top of it, he worried he would get sick again and he wouldn’t be able to tell Geralt to stop the car. Luckily it was a quick drive.

Once they were at the right address, Jaskier took out his keys, he still kept keys from his home in Zakopane on his bunch of keys, ignoring Geralt’s glare. By unlocking the gate and then the entrance door Geralt wordlessly followed after him to the house. The atmosphere in the house’s entrance hall became tense as the doors closed behind them.

“Care to explain to me _what the fuck_ is going on?” Geralt shot at him the question, which hung in the air ever since the dreadful confrontation.

“What do you think is going on?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m starting to suspect you're not who you are.”

“Right?! I’m _the mayor’s son_ for fuck’s sake! The legacy from which I’m trying to run from, can’t you see?” Jaskier spitted, “There you have it, now the cat’s outta the bag, are you happy now?” he screamed into Geralt’s face.

Geralt didn’t say anything.

Jaskier panted and shook with anger, he managed to hide this part of himself until now and now as the truth was revealed he couldn't run any more. He was trapped in an imaginary castle, which was being attacked by strong siege units. There was no way out of this foil.

“Look me straight in the eyes, Geralt, and do tell, who do you think I am?”

“You said it clearly, you're _the mayor's son,_ ” Geralt repeated his words, without an emotion.

“And what do you think the mayor’s only son's duty is?” a rhetoric question, “Of course, how could I forget, it is fucking off to Warsaw to write limericks and play the lute. Splendid. I talk about it all the time, haven’t you heard that-”

“You don’t even write limericks.”

“Oh do I now?” so now he was challenging him, “I can make you one on the spot. Let me see,

 _O’ mighty wolf, bloodthirst struck you  
an innocent prey you want to lure  
calm down, rather cook a hearty stew  
just don’t expect a flood  
of crimson red blood  
or I’ll hit you with a shoe _”

“Jaskier, enough!” Geralt raised his voice.

“Do my rhymes offend you?” Jaskier crossed his arms.

“Why did you lie to me?” finally a hint of emotion in Geralt’s speech. 

“ _Lie?_ How is it lying, when I didn’t tell you anything?”

“You think how are you smart with words and twisting them to come serve your benefit. You act like you’re someone better than everyone, where in reality you’re just like everyone else.”

“Then why do you keep wasting your _precious_ time with me, when you could find someone else, even better, hm?”

“You’re right, said it yourself perfectly. I don’t know why do I even bother with _you_.”

Jaskier’s heart dropped and he froze on the spot. He knew this realization was coming sooner or later, but not now. With no time to emotionally prepare for the blow. It was shock therapy.

“I-I’m going for a walk. Don’t look for me,” he sputtered and slammed the door, without a goodbye.  
  


Jaskier left. Geralt was numbly staring at the door, maybe if he would look for long enough he would come back. Though it didn’t happen and Geralt really fucked up.

He looked around Jaskier's house or more like Jaskier’s parents’ house. The house was big and nicely decorated. Well, as Geralt recently found out, more like Jaskier screamed it straight to his face, he was the mayor's son and the mayor's house must look beautiful. Suddenly the pieces of Jaskier’s life started to fit together. On the front door, a nameplate was hung, on which names of his parents were engraved, academic degrees in front of their names. He was familiar with those degrees. They were the same as the degree, which Yennefer was bearing. Law academic degrees. 

Everything clicked now. Geralt sat down on the floor and put his head in his hands.

He didn’t mean a thing he said, the anger got of him. Jaskier was just protecting himself, it wasn’t like Geralt hadn't got secrets. He hasn't met his parents yet, but right now he was furious at them for what they may have done to their son to cause him such a protectiveness around his true identity. As it seemed Jaskier hasn’t got the best relationships with his parents, but still deep down in his heart he longs for their love and approval. He could still remember Jaskier screaming for them, while he was burning with fever.

“Fuck,” Geralt was furious at himself, “What have I done?” he whispered.  
  


Jaskier ran, mind blank he didn’t even know where he was running, letting his legs take an initiative. When he regained his surroundings he was on the way to the woods. It struck him how familiar this was.

Fights with his parents. One of many, which ended in him running away to the woods, to clear his mind, to scream, to cry, to sing at the tops of his lungs. Nobody came looking for him, he always returned on his own. 

On a small clearance stood a stump, which was labelled as his, on which he often sat and composed songs and poems, was lost in thoughts or shed tears. From this place the scenery of mountains above him was breathtaking. Always instinctively running to the same place.

Tatra mountains towering above him always felt like a safe place, the source of inspiration. Suddenly the thought of this small clearance as a perfect camping spot found a way into his mind. A reminder of him camping with Geralt pained him and he curled up on himself. This place asked itself for being immortalized in poems, but Jaskier felt nothing. His head numb and staring into the abyss.

“You were right when you thought you don’t know who I am. I don’t know either,” Jaskier whispered into the wilderness.  
  


At first, Geralt gave Jaskier space. That itself wasn’t unusual, Jaskier was often going out when he was frustrated or restless and wanted to clear his mind. Geralt wanted to believe that Jaskier knew this town better than him and wherever he went he would be safe. Maybe he slipped into some old friend’s house for a night, or lover’s, you never know with Jaskier.

What was more concerning was that it had already been two hours since he had fled and his phone was left on the drawer in the hall. No point in calling or texting him. Geralt just wanted to know if he was safe as the sound of thunder was amplifying minute by minute. The storm was nearing.

He was getting worried and he wasn’t hiding it. No doubt Jaskier could take care of himself, however when he fled he was in no right state of mind. Which was entirely Geralt’s fault and he hated himself for it. Plus being in this house was also making him uneasy. How could he be sitting in the luxury of Jaskier's house, where Jaskier himself was god where. At that moment the thunder banged loudly and the electricity flickered for a while.

And an idea flicked in Geralt’s head. He remembered he had Jaskier’s grandmother's address, which the old woman scribbled on a piece of paper and gave it to him. If someone may know where Jaskier might be she’s the right person for it.

Geralt braced himself. Took the keys from the door, which Jaskier hadn't taken with him either and went to his car and set the destination to Jaskier's grandmother's house.

He drove through the narrow streets guided by the robotic voice coming from the GPS, till he reached the house, which according to the address was the right one. He rang the old fashioned bell and waited.

Nothing.

He tried it again and again. Until finally the old lady ran to him.

“Jaskier,” Geralt directly spoke without greeting and urgency in his voice, “Is he here?”

It took a while for the old lady to grasp the nature of this visit, “Oh, no dear, Julek isn’t here,” she glanced at Geralt, “You’re Julek’s friend, right? The one who he was supposed to bring over the dinner?”

“We had... a fight and he disappeared,” Geralt whispered, head bowed, “I thought he came here.” 

The old lady, Jaskier’s grandma, smiled sadly and said in a warm voice, “Don’t worry, dear boy, for I know where to look for him,” she put a comforting hand on his shoulder and pointed towards the direction from where the scenery of mountains could be seen, “Near his house, there’s a meadow, run through it and you’ll find yourself in the forest. Remember to always follow the direction of the mountains and you’ll find him.”

Geralt blinked.

“Fear not, young boy, those who’re bound together will always find each other,” with these words she had disappeared into the house and left Geralt standing there. Just when he was preparing to leave she returned and put something heavy in his hand, “Take this torch and go find him.”

Geralt inspected the torch closely and saw _Alfred P._ engraved on it, he looked up at her, puzzled.

She just smiled mysteriously, “When the stars appear in the sky, the light will be your guide.”  
  


Geralt followed Jaskier’s grandmother's words. He had no idea why her words sounded like a riddle, which the old lady would give to the pilgrim knight, who had to solve the said riddle in order to find a way to save the princess. Very poetic, apparently poetry runs in this family.

Thinking more about it, he concluded that his situation wasn’t much different than the one in the fairy tale setting. Right now he’s just crossed the said meadow and saw the woods stretching in front of him, that’s when the wind picked up. He quickened up his pace.

After minutes walking through the dense coniferous forest, he reached a small clearing, where he spotted a figure sitting leaning against the stump. No doubt it was Jaskier and true to his grandmother's words, this clearing had a splendid view on the mountains. Jaskier was sitting with knees pulled to his chin and staring into the scenery. So lost in the thoughts he hasn't noticed Geralt coming.

“Nice view,” Geralt said, taking a seat next to him, however keeping his distance.

Jaskier just huffed and kept staring ahead, tightening his grip on himself.

“Jaskier, look I’m sorry-”

“No, I’m sorry for hiding the truth from you,” Jaskier refused to meet Geralt’s gaze, “From everyone. It wasn’t supposed to end this way, but as the saying goes, the lie has short legs. I had it coming,” he winced.

“I-I’m aware how I fucked up-”

“I know. That’s why I owe you an explanation. If this has to be our last encounter, at least you deserve to know the truth. It’s my last wish,” he expressed in a voice, which lacked a single emotion. So unlike Jaskier.

“Jaskier-”

For the first time since the argument, he turned his head and gazed into Geralt’s eyes. His gaze cold and determined, lacking the usual warmness, “I’m speaking right now so you’re better going to listen,” he ordered like Geralt was one of his unruly students and he had no choice but to obey. Today the mask of the ever cheerful Jaskier fell down and the ever oppressed Julian took the helm.

“The thing is, everyone thinks how my life is all easy, like being born as the mayor’s son is an equivalent of winning a lottery. And maybe it is, for some people, however for me it feels like a burden,” he began, his voice surprisingly steady. Geralt didn’t dare as much as breathe. 

“When I was small I didn’t understand all of this and gosh how good it was. Simply I was a happy child, unruly, curious like all the other kids. The realization started coming to me when I started school. You may laugh as you want, but back then I was fucking terrible pupil,” he laughed and by every uttered word, Julian was becoming to sound more like Jaskier.

“And the reason for it? I had the truth thrown in my face like a fucking brick to the wall. In liceum the educational counsellor told me that she already has records on my name, and guess from when?” he stood up, threw his hands around and started pacing back and forth.

Geralt, despite living and spending time with Jaskier for nearly a year now, didn’t know much about literary figures, but he knew this was a rhetorical question and he had to let Jaskier answer it.

“From when she had to judge if I’m fit to attend primary school,” said Jaskier in a raised voice approaching the scream, “According to the records I was an immature child and she suggested a year delay for me. My parents were being told that upon sending me to school early I had a big chance of developing a learning disability.”

“And even when they knew the risks, they still sent me to school,” this was said in full blow scream, “Hell, they even have the nerve to accuse me of my lack of attention and focus, like _fuck_ it is my fault I ended up like this. If only there was some way of how we could have prevented it, am I right?” Jaskier breathed heavily through the nose, he was red in face, fists tightly clenched and his breathing quickened. 

And it didn’t seem to be slowing down.

“I-I … just n-needed-” he gasped.

Geralt had to do something because Jaskier was slowly working himself into an anxiety attack. Without thinking he stood up and went over to Jaskier. He put his strong hands around him and tightly embraced him. 

Upon this act, Jaskier broke down and started to cry.

“I-it’s not fair,” Jaskier sniffled into his shoulder, “They k-knew.”

“I know,” Geralt said, stroking his messy hair, trying to calm Jaskier down. Because he knew. He knew _very_ well, “Now just keep breathing. Deep breaths. Slowly.”  
  


_Geralt’s mother renounced him when she found out he’s ill. An illness, a rare condition, which’s treatment gave him a minimal chance to survive. One day she gave him money for sweets and sent him to the shop in an unfamiliar village. It was the last time he saw her as she had left him there and never came back._

_Little Geralt was so confused when he didn’t find his mother standing in front of the shop as she promised to him. He waited patiently for his mother to come, but she never came. With tears in his eyes he started to ask everyone where his mother was, nobody knew until he bumped into a man walking hand in hand with a boy near Geralt’s age. The stranger crouched down to Geralt’s eye level. After Geralt told him about his lost mother, the stranger was so kind as to take him in, while they looked for his mother. They never found her, it was like she disappeared from the Earth’s surface. As days passed by and the man, who’s name was Vesemir, started noticing the weakened boy’s state, who he took in, the beginning of the wild battle began._

_The treatment, which he was subjected to, statistically had survived only 3 of out 10 people and even those 3 lucky one could suffer unpleasant consequences afterwards or in the worst cases fall into a coma and never wake up. It was an experimental treatment, you either survive or die in agony, fifty to fifty chances._

_By some magic, this was not Geralt’s case and he fought his way out. The only consequences he suffered was the loss of pigment, which gave him his trademark white hair. His back then dark brown eyes turned a very pale hazel like colour, in the sun they even looked amber yellow. The loss of pigment also affected his skin, which got very pale. The main effect of this treatment was to trigger the hormonal change in his body thanks to which he regained back immunity and it got even stronger, but it came with the consequences as it had wrecked his other hormones and among all things made him infertile.  
  
_

“G-Geralt you don’t understand how hard it is to let go. I-I’m afraid,” Geralt was pulled into reality by Jaskier’s cries, his sobs wracking his whole body. He was pressing so hard to Geralt like he was afraid he would disappear if he loosens a hold on him, “Please don’t abandon me. I-I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m sorry,” he pleaded in a pained voice, “I’ll be good.”

Upon hearing this Geralt squeezed him even tighter, “I would never,” he promised him. He was apologizing, when in reality it was Geralt who needed to apologize, not him. His heart swelled for him. Jaskier didn’t deserve this.   
  


_Vesemir was always at his side to wipe out his tears, to hold him, to comfort him. During the treatment, he kept holding him and when the memories of his mother started plaguing his mind as he also cried out from pain and cursed his mother for doing this to him, he squeezed him even tighter, stroking his unruly hair and kept saying it’s gonna be alright. She disappeared without a goodbye, without an explanation and why she did this even though she knew what exactly would happen and how small his chances were. Had she wanted to get rid of Geralt and left destiny in charge of his life? He was just a child. A child who was ill and back then when his body was so wrecked from the treatment, weak and feverish and Geralt had no strength left and just wished it all to end Vesemir put a wolf medallion over his head as a symbol that Geralt is his and he would not let his_ son _hurt. He's a wolf now and as a wolf, he would fight his way out of this. The man who took him in, the man he calls now_ father _, was the one who saved him and proved the rightful parent, not the woman who used to be his mother.  
  
_

Geralt knew and understood from where Jaskier’s anger was coming out, even when their cases were different. Inside, like Geralt, Jaskier was still a little boy who wanted to avoid pain. 

Now he was holding Jaskier who cried and shook in his arms as he cursed his parents for favouring their reputation instead of their only son’s wellbeing. Geralt tightened his grip on him. By now his shirt was completely soaked by Jaskier’s tears and snot. He didn’t mind.

“Because everyone else will leave, sooner or later,” Jaskier sniffled and looked up to Geralt’s eyes. His blue eyes instead of their usual spark were dull, pained and red and puffy from crying. 

Jaskier knew a lot about love, he was a poet after all and poets were masters of weaving words about love in every form. The love he knew about came from stories and poems, but for the so-called true love, he looked in every stranger. Hooking up with girls and boys, longing to find that kind of love poets were writing about. Romantic, intimate, passionate but also gentle, warm and tender. That kind of love which would completely enclose him and leave him with metaphorical heart eyes. Through many one night stands, relationships which lasted at longest for two months, he loved and loved and loved and got nothing in return, didn’t find what he was looking for. In truth, he didn’t even know what he should look for.

Not just romantic love, he even couldn’t keep up friendships. Here, in his hometown, the people he thought were his friends, in the end, turned out leeches who only wanted him for his status, for the expensive drinks, cinema tickets and snacks he always insisted on paying, because like that he could pretend he belonged. After the breakup, Annarietta wanted to stay friends, but they drifted apart and became strangers, it was mostly Jaskier’s fault he cut the contact. During university being free from his forced status he, as a very charismatic and talkative individual, hadn’t a problem making friends at all. The problem was there were just people he was close with, it went like _this one lives opposite me in the dorm, with this one I sit during classes, with this one we have lunch together on Tuesdays_ and so on. He longed for something more, having someone to be so close with, to share a good laugh and maybe a bottle of wine. 

He found this in Priscilla, a girl from one of his optional music classes, and they immediately clicked. Become very good friends and later rented a flat together. Logically, Jaskier knew his best friend and ex-roommate moved out because of work, but still, deep down back in his head there was a thought she simply had enough of him so she found a job as far as possible from him. 

It was only a matter of time when Ciri and Yennefer will grow tired of him. He would not be Ciri’s teacher anymore, so why would she tolerate him, when she would not have any benefit from him, so why should Yennefer. And there was also Geralt, well he doubted after today he would have to have something with him, nor his _family_.

What kind of poet was he when he struggled to describe basic emotion like _love_? The poetry’s core emotion. Valdo was right, he should go back to nursery rhymes and leave true poetry to professionals.

Jaskier’s life as perfect it may have seemed to the outsider’s eyes was too good to be true, something had to go wrong in it.

Now where to begin?

The first grade went fine for Jaskier, with almost no problems beside typical children shenanigans. He learned to read and fell in love with flipping through books and the various stories, which books could offer was all that could keep him occupied for a long time. The second grade was where it all started to go downhill. Upon many notices about his misbehaviour, dropping grades, not being able to sit still and lack of focus in classes, his parents made a drastic move and switched to homeschooling. The final straw for Jaskier’s parents was the request from school for a psychological-pedagogical examination of their child for a suspected learning disability. They had to hide their _broken_ child from the public's eye because having a child labelled with a learning disability would ruin their perfect image.

Little Jaskier didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, he was just a child who wanted love and acceptance from his family. Instead, he got a tutor, an old scary looking lady with a stern look in her eyes. Always with a wand in her hand telling Jaskier if he won’t sit still and listen she would beat literacy into him. And she did that, _literally_. She slapped his dominant hand with a stick every time his focus drifted. Soon enough he developed said Pavlovian instinct and learned that in order to avoid punishment he had to keep focusing. It came with a price, he often had headaches and stress kept him awake at night.

It wasn’t all bad, he couldn’t only complain. Back in first grade, he showed great talent regarding his voice. His parents seized the opportunity and signed him into _primary school for art education_ to classes specializing in developing and cultivating the voice technique. Jaskier loved those classes, he was totally absorbed in them and rarely found his attention shifting. 

There he discovered his love for singing and soon enough in addition to singing he later took on piano lessons. He showed himself a natural talent and his parents seized the opportunity another time. They finally had a perfect cover story for their son’s homeschooling, he was simply developing and focusing mainly on his musical talent. And Jaskier loved it because he felt the pride in his parent’s eyes and that was all he ever wanted. 

But that was simply a cover story, they loved him and were proud of him because it was good for their reputation. There he learned they would keep loving him till he would do as they say. They didn’t care about him, they cared about his qualities and successes regarding the family business. He excelled in music, that was true, but as he got older and by graduating the primary art school after completing all 8 years in two specializations - _voice education and singing_ and _piano_ , the support from his parents regarding his artistic education ended.

He was not homeschooled anymore as he eventually _grew up_ of childhood disorder and could attend liceum with his peers now, his parents already having decided a future for him, which had nothing to do with Jaskier’s interests.

The truth is he never _grew up_ from his childhood disorder. _As if_ , he thought. It became more of an internal uneasiness, bad time remembering things, feelings of uncertainty, impatience and in general problems with staying focused on one task and as a cherry on the top the pressure of being someone who he was not, also played a part in all of this. Soon it developed into anxiety, which plagued his teenage life and continues plaguing his adult life.

This is one of the things he would _never_ forgive them for. He may still be the same little child yearning for mother’s soft touch and father’s encouraging words wanting to prove to them that he’s enough and worthy of their love and attention and at the same time wanting to know the reason behind all of this, except the usual version of twisted truth and never look back. He just wants to be enough for them, he wants to make them proud in his own way.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do, it was simply too much for him, so rather than dealing with all of this, he buried this part of himself and kept running away from it, till today, when he was sitting with Geralt at his favourite place and telling him his life story.

“Look at me now,” he stood up and threw his hands into the air, “I was told I won’t even finish primary school, should forget of going to liceum and university was out of the question,” Jaskier laughed.

“The truth is I finished primary school scarcely my tutor must have hated me,” he sighed and sat back down leaning on Geralt, “I confess, I got only to the liceum because my father, who had acquaintances and assured me a place there. I was trying to be more independent and rely on myself, but still, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of being the favoured student there, which was understandable as my parents were financing school from regional subsidies and maybe they threw in _a liiitle bit_ more.”

“When it came to deciding my future after liceum I knew I had no choice in it. My parents arranged me a place at the Faculty of Law of Jagelovian university in Kraków, because you know they have attended it and have contacts there, actually have met there, and it would be a right place for me. Or right for the publicity.”

“However I sent an application to my now _alma mater_ behind my parents’ backs. On the day of my entrance exam, I tricked my parents that I was spending a day with my ex-girlfriend Annarietta in the neighbouring town. They liked Annarietta as she was the daughter of some higher court officer as well as my father’s good friend and classmate from the university. It was all about connections. They were even aiming to marry me off to her as soon as I graduated. We broke up and no wedding took place. But about that another time,” he scrunched his nose upon reminiscing about this particular scenario, “The point is I went to Warsaw to take an entrance exam. To be honest, I had several nervous breakdowns throughout it, but when, several days later, I received an email from the university that I was admitted to my chosen study program I was so proud of myself, even when I barely got there and ended up in last places. But despite all, I was admitted and I did it on my own!”

“I imagine your parents didn’t have to be very happy about the turn of events,” Geralt remarked.

“Damn right, they were furious with me! Were throwing into my face how I’m wasting opportunities and how they’ll kick me out of school after the first semester because I'm a troublesome spoiled brat, with whom nobody would have patience. And you know what? I stopped caring back then.”

“I wanted to prove them wrong that I’m not just a noble brat and I can do things on my own. I finished university on my own,” he paused, “Okay, sometimes I was cheating on tests, but who doesn’t? But no one favoured me, they didn't know me. I was just another number on their list, no one special. At first, it was hard to even me, who despised privileged life so much, but honestly, that was the wake-up call I needed, that I won’t have anything served on a silver plate and when I want to achieve something I had to work for it, not use my name as a free ticket. To learn that my opinion is not always right, as it was back then and that’s okay, because I learned to see the world how it is, not just black and white, but many shades of grey.”

“So look at me mother and father _dearest_ , I finished university on my own, even managed to graduate with fucking honours! Now I’m doing a doctorate, so tell me are you finally satisfied with me?” he breathed out.

A figure of speech, of course, because as his parents often kept stressing out, _how could someone as irresponsible as you graduate university, even with a red diploma,_ it stung in the beginning, now he just became numb to it.

“Jaskier, look at me now and be honest with me,” Geralt said, gaining his attention, “Are you doing a doctorate only as a way to please your parents?”

“No… yes… I don’t know,” Jaskier fidgeted, “Of course I’d like to rub to their faces that I have a fucking doctorate, but that would be me acting only out of pure spite. Even though they kind of respect me now, because of my status as a linguist so maybe … maybe…” he sighed, “It’s naive of me thinking that the doctorate would change anything, but still deep down, I believe that one day I’ll prove them wrong, through sooner the pigs would learn how to fly that it’ll happen,” he scoffed.

“Jaskier.”

“I know, I know,” Jaskier quickly assured him, “I may complain, but despite all of it, I like doctorate studies. Finally, I feel like my opinion is respected, because I worked for it, not because it has to be respected. Besides I’m doing what I’ve always wanted, I’m working with literature, actually writing a book… yes I might have my doubts, I’m only a human after all, but this time I’m doing it for myself,” he smiled.

“Is being a teacher something you expected?” Geralt wondered.

Jaskier laughed “I’ve never expected to become a teacher of all things, that was simply a result of my procrastination.”

Geralt raised his eyebrow in confusion.

“About that, funny story really. Remind me to tell you another time,” he paused, “To be honest, I may have expected us to have this talk someday, but I didn’t expect it today nor sitting here, so as unexpected as this is,” he gestured with hands around himself, “Being a teacher is another unexpected thing. Firstly, I didn’t even know what to expect of it and actually, I never thought of it. That doesn’t mean I don’t like being a teacher. Like everything, it has its ups and downs. I may hate paperwork and administration work with a burning passion, however, nothing will outdo the feeling of pride, when I manage to explain something to someone and see the understanding in their eyes. Then I feel pride within myself like _hah I made it_ ,” he took a deep breath, “I know from where this question comes from and I understand. I taught at the liceum, officially, for one year and now you see me resigning. To put it simply, it was time to move on to the next level, who knows what kind of university lecturer I will be.”

“I believe you’ll be great,” Geralt assured him as they sat in the silence. This kind of silence was however comfortable.

It was getting late, and amid all the haste and emotional confessions they hadn't noticed the storm going away and the stars already becoming visible in the clear night sky. Jaskier yawned and put his head against Geralt’s shoulder.

“We should head back.” 

“No, don’t wanna,” Jaskier sleepily mumbled.

Geralt scoffed, “Come, you can sleep at home,” then he helped Jaskier to his feet, who continued to lean on him.

“What’s this?” Jaskier said, reaching for the thing peeking out from Geralt’s pocket.

“Your grandma,” Geralt took out the torch and turned it on, “She gave me this to find you.”

“Geralt?”

“Yes?”

“Nobody has ever found me before,” Jaskier meekly smiled.  
  


“I can’t shake off the feeling of being too much and not enough at the same time,” Jaskier confessed and took a shaky breath, “Either too loud, too emotional, too impulsive or too flaky, too absent-minded, too selfish… I’m just trying to find the right balance in between, but I don’t know how.”

When they were heading out of the forest it was already pitch dark out outside and only the stars were visible. _Stars will guide you_ , Geralt recalled as he held the torch in one hand and with the second hand he supported Jaskier, who was too tired to pay attention to the path back, but still had the energy to talk, which wasn’t quite unusual, however, this time the words he spoke were personal and not easy to say out loud.

“Listen to me, Jaskier,” Geralt stopped and Jaskier met his gaze, “There’ll always be people, for whom you’ll be just right. There are many students who love and look forward to your classes because they love your enthusiasm. Many adore you because of your kindness, your jokes make people laugh, your music brings them peace and I could go on, the thing is they love you because you’re _you_. Your happiness and worth don’t have to depend on the opinion of two people, who are blinded by their own reputation.”

Jaskier blinked, tears filling his eyes.

“They’re wrong, Jaskier. You’re smart, ambitious, talented, you’ve been wronged in your life, but that didn't fizzle your spark. You’re not too much. If people weren’t too much, then there wouldn’t be individuals with higher developed emotions, who manage to give such a weight to abstract concepts, completely unseen to other ones, materialize them in words and not just that, you manage to artistically stylize them for us, simple folks to read, to get a glimpse at the world through your eyes,” Geralt gently wiped Jaskier’s tears off with his thumb, “To me, you’re just right.”

Jaskier burst into tears for the second time that day. He cried because he felt _too much_ , and what he felt he wasn’t able to describe. The feeling was new, strange, but at the same time just _right_.  
  


Back at home, correction Jaskier’s parents’ house, Geralt made himself comfortable on the couch in the living room, when Jaskier suddenly appeared in the doors, “Geralt?” he said in a small voice.

“Yes?”

“I-I know it’s too much to ask, but I… umm… I can’t sleep-” he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Geralt patiently listened.

“-and I was wondering if you would stay with me for the night… j-just today,” Jaskier kept scratching the back of his head, “I just don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Without any words, Geralt got up from the couch and led Jaskier to lead him to his bedroom. He had a very emotionally tiring day and after everything that had happened today, Geralt would not leave him alone tonight.

Geralt wanted to sit on the chair, however, Jaskier kept patting the spot on the bed, looking at him with pleading eyes. Geralt gave in, Jaskier’s bed was huge, enough space for both of them. Laying down next to Jaskier he pulled up a duvet around them and clutched Jaskier close, “Good night, Jaskier,” he whispered as Jaskier immediately, tired from the day’s events, fell asleep, Geralt following right after.  
  


Sun rays slipping through the blinds woke Jaskier up, he groaned and turned over to the other side of the bed, where the sun won’t disturb him anymore. However, when he noticed the state of the other side of the bed he was taken aback. Pillows were thrown around and the duvet was crumpled. Jaskier blinked, then the realization came to him. 

Of course, last night he had asked Geralt to stay with him through the night because he didn’t want to be alone with his emotions. He didn’t mean to actually sleep with Geralt in the same bed, it wasn’t like they haven’t shared a bed before during their travels. But this was a whole different situation and of course, stupid Jaskier had taken advantage of it and how did it end? Geralt nowhere to be seen or heard. He left, fucking splendid.

He must have dozed off for a while because when he woke up next it was to the sound of the front door being opened. Oh no, his parents must have cut their trip short, they’re already back home and he... _oh shit!_

Eyes thick with sleep he went downstairs, lost in his thought trying to form an excuse for his parents when the deep familiar voice startled him, “Jaskier, you awake?” it was Geralt’s voice and he breathed in relief.

“You look spooked, are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I just thought you were someone else,” Jaskier yawned and stretched, “W’ere ‘ave ya been?” he yawned again.

“In the shop, you have on the corner. Wanted to buy a few things for breakfast and I didn’t want to take food from you,” true to Geralt’s words, on the kitchen table were laid two shopping bags from a nearby grocery store.

Jaskier stood leaning on the kitchen door frame. He stood with his arms crossed and glance fixed on Geralt. With his messy bed-hair and a long oversized sleep cradled yellow t-shirt, which hung on him he looked quite cute. 

“I thought you would be asleep for at least two more hours. You looked so peaceful I didn’t have the heart to wake you up. So there goes my surprise breakfast to bed,” Geralt softly cursed.

“You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” Geralt stated.

“Geralt-”

“No, you’re getting one and end the conversation. Now help me find some pots and pans so I can make nalesniki for us.”

“Cupboard, ‘ehind ya,” Jaskier pointed, “I’ll make us some coffee, for now,” he spoke, voice thick with his goral accent in which he unconsciously slipped in.  


From breakfast to bed it became breakfast in the garden, even though it was already past lunch time. Who could it concern if other people were having lunch right now, not Geralt and Jaskier who were having breakfast right now.

“These are simply delicious,” Jaskier happily hummed, “They’re so soft that you feel as they are melting on your tongue,” he grinned, “The best nalesniki I’ve ever had, right after-” he gulped, _my grandma’s_ , he meant to say, but then he realized his promise to drop by grandma's yesterday and he stood her up.

“Something wrong?”

“It’s my grandma, I was supposed to join her for dinner yesterday,” he growled and put his head in his hands.

“She’ll understand. I see no reason why we can’t join her for dinner today,” Geralt suggested.

 _“We?”_ he gasped in surprise.

“Yes, _we_ ,” Geralt smiled, “Besides, I still have something of hers in a need of return.”  
  


Mrs Pankratz, a kind old lady, was shearing the newly planted saplings near the fence of her garden facing the street when she registered the car pulling out near her house. Her grandson jumped out of the car and she didn’t even have time to open the gate because he was already enclosing her in a hug. 

“I’m sorry granny, for not coming yesterday,” instead of greeting her grandson kept apologizing.

“Shush, now. It’s okay sweetheart, you’re here now,” she patted him on his head.

“And now you finally deserve a proper introduction,” Jaskier pulled from her embrace and pointed to Geralt, who was getting out of the car, “Grandma, this is Geralt, my friend, roommate and as of right now also a travelling companion.”

“Nice to finally meet you Geralt, I’m Małgorzata Pankratz, but call me just grandma,” she held out her hand.

“Geralt Rivia,” he took and shook her hand, “I’m sorry for my quite rude first impression. I have something of yours,” he pulled out the torch from his pocket and put it in her hand.

“It’s alright, you can keep it. You deserve it,” she refused to take back the item.

“Mrs Pankratz, it’s too much-”

“Nonsense! And it’s just a grandma. Just take good care of my grandson and it’ll always be enough,” she handed the torch back to him and squeezed his hand. Geralt didn’t have time to protest, as they’ve been disrupted by her lively grandson.

“The flowers have bloomed so nicely since I’ve last been here,” Jaskier gasped in surprise.

The garden was dense and thick, full of flowers both wild and decorative ones, fruit trees and vegetable patches. The garden in its nature resembled the one at Yennefer’s and he realized why spending time in Yen’s garden always brought him peace. It reminded him of home.

Jaskier’s grandma invited them inside for an early dinner or a late lunch. They had vegetable soup, dumplings with bryndza and of course for the desert grandma’s famous apricot pie. The atmosphere was cheery as grandma recalled many of Jaskier’s childhood mischiefs and Jaskier groaned and hid his flushed face behind his hands. Geralt patiently listened but his eyes kept drifting to the photograph hung on the wall. It seemed like Jaskier’s grandma noticed this.

“Julek dear, could you please water the flowerbeds? I’ll join you later.”

“Of course,” Jaskier ran from the table, happy to be free from more embarrassing childhood stories.

The dominant element of the kitchen was the black and white wedding photo framed in a massive vintage frame. The photograph depicted a newlywed couple who were looking at each other like they hung the stars and moon for each other. Bride’s veil was richly decorated in a floral pattern resembling the one on her wedding garb. Groom’s attire consisted of an ornate quilted vest and the traditional goral felt hat, behind which a barb of rosemary was pinned on. The soft-touch of the oil paint subtly highlighted certain details like rosemary lops and the irises of their eyes, grandmother’s green and grandfather’s blue. Under the photo in nice cursive handwriting was written _Małgośka and Alfred - 21. 8. 1946_.

The man in the photo, wasn’t it for a beard, a different hairstyle and hair colour, which looked too fair compared to Jaskier’s, but Geralt ascribed it to the fading ageing photograph, unbelievably resembled Jaskier. Same face features, same wrinkles around eyes and the smile. That smile he would recognise it anywhere. It was like looking at Jaskier. 

“He had gone so soon,” Jaskier’s grandma appeared behind Geralt, “It was so sudden, apoplexy out of nowhere. Nothing could pull me out from my grief. It wasn’t until Julek was born, when I first saw him, the sparkle in his eyes, then the first smile of his, it was like my Alfred was still alive, here with us,” she kept staring at the old wedding photograph and at the same time looking out of the window, where Jaskier was inconspicuously stealing raspberries from the bush instead of tending the garden.

“His grandfather was also back in his youth a talented musician, this trait Julek had inherited from him. If only my late Alfred could have seen him right now,” she intensely stared into Alfred’s eyes, “You would be so proud of him, _dear heart,_ ” she whispered to the photograph and wiped the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, which she kept in her apron’s pocket.

 _“Grandmaaa,”_ Jaskier’s loud voice coming from the garden pulled her out of the memories, “Shall we plant more hydrangeas into this flower bed?”

Geralt smiled as he saw his grandma running outside to him, dropping on knees next to him and immediately wiping up the juice from his cheeks with the same handkerchief. This was Jaskier’s legacy, not the one he kept running away from because right now he doesn’t feel any pressure, he feels only happiness and acceptance. This is where he has his roots, this is where he belongs.

“Jaskierek, how many times have I told you not to eat all of the raspberries. From what would I make jam now?” she scolded her grandson, who whined in a protest. An endearing smile appeared on her face.  
  


It was late night when Jaskier, who couldn’t sleep, walked into the kitchen and reached for the valerian supplements from Yennefer, which he put there. Geralt, who was watching TV in the living room came and stopped him, “What else does calm you?”

“Playing the piano,” Jaskier told him.

“In that case will you play for me?”

“Of course,” Jaskier beamed and ran to his room. He didn’t look back, he knew Geralt would follow him. 

Once back in his room Jaskier sat at the piano, “What shall I play? Something folk, classic or do you fancy something modern? But I warn you I haven’t played in ages. My piano skills are so rusty,” he laughed.

“Something yours?” Geralt suggested.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Jaskier grinned and patted the seat next to him, “Come sit with me.” As Geralt was seated next to him he reached to the bookshelf above the piano and pulled out an old dusty colourful book. Blowing the dust off and eventually sneezing he opened the book and set it on the note stand. It was a book of sheet music.

“I don’t think this a good idea,” Geralt mumbled, already dreading what was awaiting him.

“Oh, hush now,” Jaskier laughed and started to slowly play the whole song, “Now, I’m going to play it again step by step and you’re gonna repeat after me,“ he slowly played the first three notes, “Your turn.” 

Geralt watched as his fingers danced against the piano tiles and he tried to copy Jaskier’s moves, putting his fingers on the right tiles. It took many tries, but it wasn’t like they were hurrying somewhere and Jaskier was patient with him. Even gently took his hands in his and guided his fingers to press on the right notes. Eventually, Geralt, who never had an experience with music, played his first piano piece. With Jaskier’s help of course.

“Yes, yes! That was brilliant,” Jaskier clapped, “You managed to play a clear version of _A Kitten on a Fence_. Who knew I could make a pianist out of you, right?” he smirked.

“Hmm, I simply have a good teacher,” Geralt stated.

“Only the best teacher for you, my dear,” Jaskier proudly remarked and grinned at him.  
  


The fire crackled in embers as Geralt was roasting meat and bacon over it while overlooking the scenery of Tatra mountains towering above him. Jaskier was right, this place asked to be immortalized in poems, too bad he wasn't a wordsmith as his talented companion, who he could only admire.

The two of them would be leaving for Warsaw in the morning. Their last day of unexpected holiday they decided to spend in the arms of nature, specifically in this clearing, which holds a special place in Jaskier’s heart. 

Despite Geralt’s worries, Jaskier had assured him that even with his not so good family relationships, his parents were not cruel and would not be mad at him for spending time at their house unannounced. After it’s still _his_ house, even if he doesn't want to admit it. Jaskier left them a note on the fridge stating he dropped for a surprise visit and by a chance managed to miss them, he stayed for a week and edited several documents, which he left for them in the living room cabinet. A quite convincing small lie, which won’t kill anybody.

For their journey back to the city, Jaskier’s grandma packed them up with several doses of potato soup, cutlets with fried potatoes and a whole new plate of poppy seed pie, which she baked especially for them. Also a basket full of freshly picked fruit and vegetables. And as a bonus, she gave them several glasses of homemade jam, preserved vegetables and fruits and honey, which she gets from the neighbour two houses down. Further, as the tradition goes, it wouldn’t be all complete without slipping in a few krówka candies.

“I’m not the best storyteller, so I’ve been told, nevertheless want to hear a story?” Geralt all of sudden spoke out.

“About?” Jaskier lifted his head but continued strumming the lute.

“Myself.”

As Jaskier put his lute down and fixed gaze on Geralt, his heart swelled. He knew Jaskier’s story and now it was only fair for Jaskier to know his story.

“I’m all ears, _dear heart_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song - _Love Run / Not Yet_ by The Amazing Devil  
> limerick - mine
> 
>  _Judge Barbara_ \- czech version of American reality show _Judge Judy_. I'm using the czech brand, deliberately, because it's such an icon saying  
>  _nalesniki_ \- polish blini/crepes. the literal translation being "pancakes" but they're not the pancakes as you know them from anglophone cultures  
>  _bryndza_ \- soft, mixed and salted sheep's cheese made from lump sheep's cheese. Bryndza dumplings are the national dish of Slovakia and the Lesser Poland  
>  _krówka_ \- traditional Polish type of sweets with caramel flavour - milk candies with soft filling. I love them!!  
>  _Lidl_ \- german supermarket chain dealing with food and costumer goods. Popular in Poland  
>  _Biedronka_ \- polish supermarket chain. The largest chain of discount stores in Poland


	5. twierdza wilków

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _wolves' keep_   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back? Remember how I last turned up with 14k chapter and then disappeared? Good, because now I'm turning up with _25k_ (!!!) chapter so see ya in circa 3 months? :D
> 
> Honestly, my goal was to finish this chapter till holidays, which I kept so I'm not such a disaster in keeping deadlines lmao. Even with a million things to do for school ugh.
> 
> And anyway, happy holidays, whatever you celebrate to you all! <33  
> If you don't celebrate then I wish you a peaceful end of the year! <33

“As to sum up, during last weeks we covered up different methods of literary analyses so now we can move on to poetry analysis, which is _a liiittle bit_ trickier,” he highlighted this fact with a hand gesture.

He walked back and forth and then sat on the desk, “And I’m not in a position to teach you how to read a poem. Which is kinda ironic, because I’m a teacher here,” he pointed to himself and chuckled and some of the students followed.

Jaskier got to teach _Poetics and analysis of a literary work_ class to the first-year students. Seminary classes to be exact, and still, he was just shadowing his mentor professor who could have shown up at any time to observe him or take over the class himself. His mentor, associate professor Jasinski of the classical literature department, had faith in Jaskier’s teaching abilities and left the subject in his own hands. He just taught the first lesson at the beginning of the semester with Jaskier as his assistant to instruct him a bit so as not to throw him right into the deep water. 

So far as could have been observed, Jaskier was doing well swimming in these waters.

“Alright,” he clasped his hands and shot up to stand in front of the whiteboard, “What I’m trying to say is that my task is to offer you different strategies regarding reading poetry. For the start, I want to know your insight. Now imagine you have an unfamiliar poem in front of you, you’ve never ever seen or heard about before, what’s your first thought, which would tell you about what the poem could be?”

The class was silent. Here and there the chair creaked.

“Any guesses? Anybody?”

“Uhh...the form?” one student shyly answered.

“Excellent,” Jaskier scribbled his answer on the whiteboard, “What else? Come on, don’t be shy, I won’t bite.”

“Title?” another student called and others followed, outspeaking each other.

Jaskier wrote all answers down, “All good guesses, however- _and I’m very aware of this_ , as I’ve already stated before, I won’t present you any right interpretation patterns. Instead, I’ll try to offer the key for decoding. So, I’ll ask again - what are we trying to decode?”

“Symbols?” somebody from the back called.

“What else?” Jaskier crossed his arms and leaned against the table.

“The point of it, the meaning in general,” another student reacted.

“Yes, yes, you’re both right, in fact, you’re already _far far_ ahead. Let’s take the symbols for example, how do they carry the meaning?” the class got silent, again, “Alright, changing the tactic. I’m speaking, you are speaking, we understand each other-”

“Is it language?” the student in the blue hoodie called out.

“Yes, you’re right, it’s language,” Jaskier spoke as he wiped off what he had written on the whiteboard minutes ago and kept drawing the scheme, where three terms were connecting each other.

“What you can see here is the semantic triangle, which tells us-”

The ringing phone interrupted his train of thoughts and he halted. Students kept looking at him. Oh, right, it was his phone, which was ringing. Damm it, he forgot to mute the phone, again. He dismissed the call without checking the caller.

“Sorry about that. Now where was I?” he looked at the whiteboard, “Ahh so the semantic triangle-”

The caller didn’t seem to be giving up. The phone rang again.

“Magister Pankratz, maybe you should take it. Could be important,” one of the students, the one in the blue hoodie sitting in the first row, suggested.

“Maybe you’re right,” Jaskier accepted the call and went out of the classroom. The door closed behind him he started to speak “Hello, please speak quickly I’m busy-”

“Slow down Jaskier, it’s just me, Geralt.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier perked up, “Honestly, not that I don’t appreciate your devotion to me, but right now I’m in the middle of teaching a class and-”

“Jaskier,” Geralt had to interrupt him, otherwise, he won’t get to a word.

“What?”

“It’s my father,” Geralt said quietly, “He called me that yesterday night there was a strong wind in the village and it totally swept part of the roof from the house. I need to come home and help with fixing it. I have to leave right now and I’ll be staying there for I don’t know how long. Just wanted to let you know,” Geralt finished his speech and the recipient on the other side hadn't even peeped, “Jaskier, are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here...though is your father alright?” Jaskier sounded concerned.

“Don’t worry, he’s as right as rain. Already on his feet and ordering my brothers around as always,” Geralt gave a small laugh.

“Good to know, I was afraid for a while. Looking forward to joining your brothers and being ordered around?” he smirked and then turned concerned again, ”Does Ciri know?”

“Of course,” Geralt confirmed, “Called her before, Yen too.”

“Treachery,” Jaskier tsked, “I’m your roommate and very best friend in the whole wide world, I should be first to know this vital info.”

“Well I couldn’t reach you, you idiot,” Geralt chuckled.

“Hah, Just joking,” Jaskier waved his hand around, though Geralt couldn’t see his gesturing, “Well, I should be going, the class is getting very antsy. Call you later, bye for now.”

Saying goodbye to Geralt Jaskier went back to the classroom, where students immediately fell silent. 

“Well, well I hope you were discussing the subject of semantics or what we were talking about,” Jaskier gestured to the drawn triangle scheme on the whiteboard, “Anyway, it was just my roommate… and by the way is anyone here from the Silesian region? Apparently, there was a strong wind yesterday night.”  
  


_He was standing on the mountain, the wind was blowing his hair. The confusion was plastered on his face._ What was going on? _He kept asking himself._

 _“If life could give me one blessing, It would be to take you off my hands!” yelled Geralt. He was angry. Very_ angry. 

_There was it, Geralt was done with him. After all, he had gone through because of him, could anybody blame him?_

_He should be angry, should fight back, defend himself, claim that whatever Geralt was angry, furious at him wasn’t his fault. But there was nothing, only numbness and emptiness and that confusion plastered on his face, Geralt’s words echoing back in his head._

_One blessing. Off my hands._ Go away, you ruined my life _, was spoken in between lines._

_And the wind picked up and was blowing his hair, and-_

Jaskier awakes with a gasp, covered in a cold sweat. He sits up trying to catch and calm down his breathing, then blinks his eyes open to look around and sees only darkness. Though after a while as his eyes had better adjusted to the darkness, vague silhouettes of the furniture started to shape out more clearly. He feels the bedsheets around him. He’s in his bed, in his room, in his flat. He’s not standing anymore on some godforsaken mountain from his imagination. _Or is he?_

He took a few steadying breaths to calm down and to his surprise, he was right where he was a minute ago. _Thank god, only a nightmare,_ he breathed out, _not a reality, but what if it could be a reality? It seemed so real..._ no, he shook his head. This was not the right kind of thinking. His bed, his room, his flat. _Oh..._ their flat. Geralt wasn’t there. He went to his family because they needed him and Jaskier… Jaskier was having nightmares about his biggest doubts, because the person, who he cared for the most, wasn't there. 

How pathetic.

Turning on the other side and pulling covers against his head he tried to fall back asleep. The clock on the wall was slowly ticking. He groaned and pulled a pillow to his head. The steady rhythm of _tick-tock_ was louder than ever before. This couldn’t work. Not like this. Jaskier got up and took bed covers and blanket with him and settled down on the couch in the living room and tried to fall asleep, _again_. This also didn’t work. 

He didn’t understand, the living room was completely silent.

He lay for a while with eyes closed, but he grew only more restless than he was before. He just sighed and gave up on sleep at all. Instead of trying to fall back asleep, as he tried several times and each time it failed, he turned on his laptop, which he _luckily_ left on the coffee table yesterday, when he was doing some work in the evening, and turned on some relaxing videos, more specifically _meadow relaxing sounds_ , which in a way reminded him of his safe place in the mountains, good mountains, his _home_. And so, illuminated by bright blue light coming from the laptop screen he finally drifted off.

When he opened his eyes the room was still covered in darkness, although it was slowly fading. He felt disoriented, he didn’t know where he was, how did he even fall asleep. He yawned and stretched. He felt a crick in his neck, serving him right for sleeping on the couch. The laptop’s battery died out overnight. Jaskier still felt tired. 

He stood up and gazed through the window, nothing but blurred silhouettes of barely recognizable Warsaw scenery could be seen. The layer of thick fog engulfed the city, it looked like another gloomy and rainy day awaited residents of Warsaw. At least the weather was too considerable to match Jaskier’s state of mind. The perfect mirror for his mood. 

It was still early and Jaskier should have gone to make breakfast, get dressed up, but he didn’t have any energy. He pulled the discarded blanket from the sofa and draped it over himself like a cape. He sat down and kept blindly staring into the window. For some reason, the raindrops sliding off the glass were very fascinating. 

The constant buzzing of the phone was what pulled him out. When had he drifted off? In a panic he reached for his, still ringing, phone. Six missed calls - three from his PhD mentor, two from the department secretary and even one from his students, to whom he gave his number for emergencies. This was clearly an emergency he wasn’t counting on having, but the fate decided.

He held the phone in his hand and stared at the incoming call, this one was from his professor. His mind felt so blank he hadn’t managed to take the call, he just let it continue to ring till it went down. He will call back, but not right now. But when then, when not now?

Just as he continued to contemplate if to call or not to call and _if_ he would call what he would say, the phone in his hand buzzed and lit up with an upcoming call. Again from his mentor professor. He let it ring for a few seconds, as not to raise any suspicion and then tapped on the green call icon.

“...hello?” he whispered, voice thick with sleep.

“Julian!” his mentor loudly exclaimed, “Finally, you have no idea how long we tried to reach you! What happened?”

 _What happened?_ Good question… “Ehm… I don’t know I didn’t feel well and-”

“Then rest and don’t strain yourself too much,” the professor calmly explained, “Marx is taking over your classes as we speak, so don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier murmured, not having any idea what else to say, he felt horrible.

“It’s okay Julian, things like that happen,” his mentor assured him, “Just write me an email later this day on how you’re feeling if you’ll be coming tomorrow or not.”

“Uhh...okay, goodbye,” Jaskier hung upon him and now he felt even worse. Not only did he lie to his professor, but the said professor felt sympathy for him. The sympathy he didn’t deserve. He just had a nightmare and was tired, people have it far worse, this was a trivial stupid thing.

He checked his phone one more time, unread messages from Yennefer were flashing at him, he swiped them off, not having energy for reading about what idiocy Yennefer’s colleagues were on again. Nothing from Geralt though.

And he wanted Geralt. Just his company could pull him out of this, whatever this was. He wanted to watch Geralt playing video games. He would just sit and watch, without understanding what is happening. It gave him this sense of calmness, safety, familiarity. He longed for this feeling, but now he was alone for a few days and he was behaving really pathetic.

Jaskier had no idea how to spend the day, except lying down and staring at the four walls. He could write or tune-up the lute, but today was absolutely not a good day for engaging in any creative activity, and even if he would submit himself into any form of artistic expression, it would just frustrate him more. And he didn’t want that.

Jaskier just needs to pull himself together and not wallow in self-pity. He needs to do _something_. Something to take his mind off. Eventually, for a start, he decided to make tea. So he stood up, went to the kitchen and as fate today decided to be not on his side, rather against him, as he soon found out when he opened one of the cupboards, they ran out of tea. 

“Oh, great, today after work, I was supposed to pick up groceries,” he cursed and slapped his head. A quick trip to the nearest grocery store was it then.

He didn’t dare to look at his reflection in the mirror for he was sure he looked horrible, hair messy, matted and a two-day stubble, which he didn’t have the energy to shave off. But who cared, it was only a grocery store.

Over his sleep t-shirt, he pulled a hoodie, it was one of Geralt’s, which he had left at home hanging in the hallway. Jaskier just simply borrowed it. It was loose on him, so he could pull up the hood over his head and hide his face. As he was dressed now, the journey to the nearest grocery store through the rain and wind could begin. 

He wanted to pick only a few things like the tea and something sweet, because he felt bad and he deserved some joy, and of course some microwave and instant food, for which Geralt would scold him that it’s not healthy, but Geralt wasn’t here and he was so exhausted to even think rationally, nor to cook an actual meal, _sorry, Geralt_. 

Having in cart everything on the shopping list, which existed in his mind, he started to head to the checkout, but while passing near the drugstore section his eyes spotted something, of which he was in a dire need of. Without thinking he tossed the said item into the cart and headed to the checkout, now for real.

Since morning the rain hasn't stopped, quite the contrary it has only intensified. Jaskier came home from the store completely soaked from head to toe, because he, _an idiot_ , forgot to bring an umbrella with him. Or rather didn’t bother to bring one. He left the shopping bag in the hall, draped the soaked hoodie and pants over the radiator and went to bed. The tea he wanted to make before, was long forgotten, this trip had already burned all of his remaining energy for this day.

Eventually, pulled from his nap by his grumbling stomach, he decided to actually make a meal, an instant noodle soup. The first meal of the day. It was nearly an evening, but he didn’t care, the soup was a light meal and it would keep him warm if nothing else. Furthermore, it was a vegetable noodle soup, so it was supposed to be a healthy meal, _see Geralt, I got this._

Having prepared the soup he set the bowl on the coffee table and sat on the couch, a blanket draped over his body and turned on the TV, as an equivalent of having some company. He flicked through the channels for a while till he settled on a documentary about gothic architecture. Jaskier slowly sipped his soup, while elderly historian was explaining the nature of St. Vitus’s cathedral in Prague. Having eaten the whole bowl of a fairly decent meal, he felt lighter but still sleepy. 

Jaskier made a decision and quickly shot his mentor message that he would rather stay at home tomorrow. Maybe if he slept this thing out, the morning will wash away his blues.

The next morning thankfully brought some light back into his mood. When he woke up messages from Geralt shone at him brightly from the lock screen. He immediately unlocked the lock screen and read Geralt’s messages, quick snippets about his day and a photo of his dog. Jaskier immediately felt warmth rushing back unto him and the corners of his mouth turning into a smile.

It wasn’t until he spotted Geralt’s last message, in which he was asking him about his day. What should he say? Truth or lie? In the end, he didn’t want to concern Geralt, he had already too much on his plate, so in the end, he just wrote that he was tired yesterday and slept, which technically was not a lie.

 _Ahh, twisting words to come serve to your benefit again, Julian,_ his consciousness yelled at him and he tried to sweep the thought from his head like a speck of dust from the shelf.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity, _again_ , he forced himself to do something productive today. He picked up from the shelf one of many collections of classical poems and told himself that he would try at least outline scansion in two or three poems. 

Sooner or later he got so into it, that he turned on the laptop and decided to also write down the scansion analyses in his dissertation, which he lately kept neglecting due to the other school and teaching responsibilities.

The date of submitting the first third of his dissertation, or commonly called in between students _minimal work_ , was catching up on him and so was the pressure. He had to have written now about one-third of the whole work, which he had to defend it in front of the committee a while after New Year. This is going to be his first big exam as a PhD student, one of the four big PhD exams. Till then he should have around 30 pages written, just a brief theoretic intro into the problematic, work objective and methodics. Jaskier laughed to himself, as he had about 18 pages written. Could be more, could be less, considering his chaotic system of writing things down.

For now, he completely zoned out and was focused on reading, analysing and drawing conclusions in finding the common recurring both figures and tropes in between the poems. The day quickly flew by and by the time evening arrived he found himself sitting in front of a laptop surrounded by books and many papers and finding out he wrote two pages for his dissertation and found more penetrations between poetry from different periods. 

Jaskier felt satisfied and even proud of himself, after all, today was a productive day, which after a disaster day before, was quite a jump forward. 

For his dissertation, he depended on the comparative analysis method, and if there was something with which his ever hyperactive brain could keep the pace with, it was comparative studies. It was all about connecting different things together and his brain simply buzzed with many associations and implications, which he then was piecing together like a jigsaw puzzle. 

Saving and closing the document Jaskier leaned back and breathed out. Just 10 pages left and his quota for the minimal work should be filled.   
  


Next day he was hanging the laundry on the drying rack set in the middle of the living room while having a video chat session with his ex-roommate Priscilla, who was for a change ironing. She was filling him with updates about her life and work in Oxford and Jaskier was sharing his part. Just a regular Saturday, two friends catching up while doing chores. It was how their weekends mostly went while they still lived together. It helped him not to feel as much as lonely and moreover it was nice to catch up with Priscilla. He’d been missing her.

He’d also been missing Zoltan, his roommate back at dorms, with whom it was always about shared humour and a beer or two, mainly while playing cards and all of this, at its best, has been happening at the night before an important exam. And there was also Priscilla, who lived two rooms next door. What a chaotic trio they made. Oh, those youthful times, where had they gone?

Zoltan Chivay, who studied _mining engineering_ , in which he was pushed by his family as it was a tradition, dropped out after two years. Instead, he went back to his hometown Polkowice and opened and managed his own pub. He seemed happy and settled in this life. Though sometimes he would pop back to Warsaw and they would go out to the pub together to have a beer or two and maybe play some cards and reminiscence about university times, but it wasn’t the same as before. There wasn’t that spark anymore.

Priscilla, with whom they rented a flat together back when he had just finished his bachelor’s degree is Jaskier’s current flat right now, a flat which he shares now with Geralt. When Priscilla got the opportunity to work in Oxford, in the theatre business, which was always her big dream, Jaskier couldn’t be more prouder and happier for her, but at the same time, he felt the feeling of dread crawling on him. 

Everyone was leaving and Jaskier himself had no clear goal in life, besides teaching back then at liceum and getting his doctorate, resulting in staying in Warsaw. Then came Geralt and the rest is in the progress of life’s writing.

Jaskier missed his friends, but he missed Geralt the most.

Lost in the thoughts he accidentally overthrown the basket with the laundry, which he put on the drying rack, and it came tumbling down, making piercing noise as the plastic basket fell on the hardwood floor. 

“Oh, fuck,” he swore, loudly.

On the other side of the screen, Priscilla flinched from the sudden noise and nearly burned her finger, “Ow, what was that?” she looked up from ironing to the laptop screen, “Ahh, Jaskier, careful now you might give me a heart attack,” she laughed.

“Oh, you wish,” Jaskier bent down and was collecting the fallen laundry back in the basket, “It would take more than a falling basket to knock you out for good.” 

She whistled, “Doubt it!” 

When finished with laundry Jaskier moved to sit on the bathroom floor, put on an old band t-shirt and set the laptop set in front of him on the washing machine. He took a box of hair dye, bought recently for a reasonable discount, from the bathroom cupboard. He angled the laptop so he could use the webcam as a mirror, while he would be dyeing his overgrown roots.

His natural hair colour was blond, more specifically dirty blond. When he was little it was fair, very fair, nearly sunny yellow, which earned him the nickname _Buttercup_ , which he later turned into his alias. However, as he grew older he began to dislike this trait about himself, which could be easily fixed so he started to dye it brown. Which at first started as an act of rebellion against his parents during his teenage years, became his trademark and he just went with it. It suited him well and he felt more confident and more himself as brunet than as blond.

He hasn't tried many colour experimentations on his hair, other than experimenting with several shades of brown, both by trying to find the right shade and trying to find the brand of hair dye, which suited him well. After nearly one year of this process of error and trial, he settled on the shade called chestnut brown. Once he tried to dye his hair black, but that was during his emo phrase, about which he doesn’t want to talk.

The alarm, which he set on his phone to alert when the dye sat enough on his hair to react, had rung, just as he was in the middle of explaining to Priscilla a funny tale, which happened with a toaster. He excused himself, left the video call on hold and went to rinse the dye of his hair. 

Checking his, still wet, hair in the mirror Jaskier smiled at his reflection in the mirror. He already felt more like himself, not like the mess from previous days.

“And since when do you feel like that?” Priscilla questioned. From ironing, she moved to the kitchen. Right now she was in the process of mixing dry ingredients in the bowl. She wanted to make biscuits. 

Eventually, though a natural flow, their conversation shifted into a more serious topic, like the state of Jaskier's life. Jaskier told her everything surrounding what had happened back in summer when he came home in unexpected circumstances and even with an unexpected host.

“Ever since our fateful visit to my hometown the feeling is getting stronger.”

“What do you feel?” Priscilla asked.

“A lot? I don’t know, he’s different… after he knew who I was, he accepted it and was there for me, held me when I cried, comforted me when I was anxious. Still finds some ways to comfort me, through simple acts or just his company,” Jaskier smiled sadly, “I want him, oh god Priscilla I want him.” 

“So why won't you tell him?”

“It’s not that simple. Something happened back then,” Jaskier mumbled.

“What happened?” Priscilla shuddered.

“I lied to him, he only thought of me as of just a simple guy from Kraków, which I’ve used to tell everybody because you see, technically it isn’t a lie. I was born there! And there goes me twisting words again. He got mad at me and to be honest, I was not surprised by his reaction,” Jaskier continued, “I was dreading the day he would find the truth. I just haven’t expected it so soon. And suddenly boom, we’re in Zakopane and some old ladies know who I am and then my grandma appears from god where and in a few sentences manages to convey more about my past than I did by nearly two years of knowing him and living with him. Shifting the whole perspective on me. Who the fuck wouldn’t get mad and lash out?”

“You had your reasons,” Priscilla reassured him.

“Yes, I had. But I mustn't use those reasons as a brick wall against me and somebody, so dear to me. That’s no excuse. If I want to keep up steady relationships, even the friends one, I have to stop pretending I’m someone who I’m not,” Jaskier gulped, “Geralt just needed some time to process it. We both did, we both lashed at each other back then. But he came back and comforted me, even when it should be otherwise.”

“You aren’t two different persons in one body. You’re just Jaskier, who guards his past because you needed to run away from it,” Priscilla remarked, she had a point, however…

“I’m tired of hiding and running away, I need to embrace it, if I like it or if not. Just... I can’t do this anymore,” he gestured around himself, “I miss him. Loneliness is killing me. I don’t know how I survived living alone. I miss his company so much, the only company I have is those spiralling thoughts.”

“And the answer is yet so simple. Call him, text him,” she suggested.

“Don’t wanna sound too straight-forward,” _oh, Priscilla must be tired from hearing tales about the hot guy from the renaissance fair by now,_ over and over...

“Dammit, _Dandelion_ ,” she cursed.

“Priscilla, who's the handsome guy you’re talking with?” another girl's voice was heard from the other room.

“Just my brother,” Priscilla shouted back. Technically, she wasn’t lying, they were sort of siblings. True, they may have different fathers, or mothers... or both parents. But they were siblings by bond, not by blood. “And sorry he’s taken,” Priscilla added, while silenced and a disappointing sigh coming from the other room followed by “Why all hot ones are already taken. It’s not fair.”

“Sorry, that was my roommate,” Priscilla went back to kneading dough for biscuits, “Had to tell her, otherwise she would not leave you alone- hey stop pouting and acting like it isn’t what it is.”

“I have fucking _nightmares_ about him leaving me and then I’m messed for days, how is this alright? I know he didn’t mean those words, we’ve already talked it out, but still, tell my stupid head not to think about what-ifs,” Jaskier whined.

“This is something I can’t help you with, Dandelion,” Priscilla shook her head, “Just talk to him. Tell him exactly what you’ve told me and if he is like you’ve been describing him to me all this time, he will listen to you and be there for you. If you don’t ask, you won’t get, you know?”

“I know,” Jaskier smiled sadly, “And that’s the hardest part.”  
  


“Oh my my, who decided to show up at school at last?” oh great, his arch-nemesis of this university approached him, right now while he was standing in the queue of the university cafeteria.

“Piss off, Valdo,” Jaskier snapped back at him, not in the mood for his antics. He just wants coffee and then to go back to the office and work on his super lively task, which included checking the reliability of cited sources in his mentor’s students’ essays. Was it too much to ask?

“I do not blindly drink myself and then lay two days at home with a hangover. Some of us hold some responsibility, unlike you Julian,” apparently, it was _too much_ to ask for.

“And some of us wish you would learn how to not be such a cocky bastard. After all, wanting is a nice virtue, don’t you think?” Jaskier grinned at him and immediately it was his turn and he was already handing the kitchen lady his university card and telling his order. He smiled sweetly and generously at her while she started preparing his coffee.

Valdo just stood frozen on the spot as Jaskier waited for his order. He swept out hair from his eyes and grinned at him, “Oh, turns out my students are not in favour of your dry lecturing. They have a taste, good for them.”

When Jaskier’s order was ready he once again thanked her for the coffee and sat down at one of the many tables to stir his coffee and wait a bit till it cooled down a bit. He wouldn’t carry it up the stairs to the third floor. No way.

“Finally, someone told that douchebag off,” somebody took a seat in front of him, without asking for permission, “He must run off to tend his fragile ego.” 

“Gee, it’s only you Essi,” Jaskier looked up from his coffee, “Scared me for a moment there.”

“Good to know.”

Essi Daven was a young aspiring poet who published her poetry online by the pseudonym _Little Eye_ and right now was in the process of getting her bachelor’s degree, even if there were complications. She was in the second year now for the second time, repeating the academic year, because due to family complications she had to suspend the study for a year. 

She and Jaskier met when they both waited in front of associate professor Jasinski’s office, Essi, a freshman, came for advice on writing feeders in verses and Jaskier came to discuss his improvements on the magister’s thesis. It didn’t take long and she and Jaskier quickly got along and were good friends due to their shared interest, which was poetry. They didn’t meet up often, but when they bumped into each other, _like now_ , it felt like they kept the conversation going from where they had last left.

“How do you know him- wait, don’t say he does actually teach you?”

“If only it was true,” Essi sighed, “ _Stylistic seminary_ , can you believe? He’s even more bland, dry and boring than professor Stuchły and that’s saying something,” her face scrunched up in disgust.

Jaskier groaned and slammed his head to his hands. He and professor Stuchły weren’t exactly on best terms, “Uhh, please, don’t remind me.”

“Yes right. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something, associate professor Jasinski is your mentor right?” Jaskier nodded, “And you had him for both bachelor’s and magister’s thesis, right?”

“Nope, just magister’s,” Jaskier corrected.

In truth when professors put up topics for bachelor’s theses, topics varying from literature, language, everyday things linked with both literature and language to topics coming from their chosen specializations, as Jaskier’s pedagogical. When the topics are given, immediately the best ones are gone in days like the warm buns and the worst ones are left waiting for some desperate souls, who are doing everything at the last second.

Back in the second year, Jaskier didn’t give any weight to his studies, procrastination was his middle name, _technically it is Alfred but shush_ , he didn’t care just waved a hand around it. It was far too soon for that anyway…

The laughter ended soon when the only topic available was not only from the linguistic field, which Jaskier didn’t favour at all, fairly speaking, but it was moreover the worst topic of the said linguistic field. Nobody wanted grammar topics and what was left? And not just any grammar topic, fucking _syntax_ and fucking _syntagma function_ , to be more specific. As if that still wasn’t enough, this thesis supervisor Stuchły wasn’t on the best terms with Jaskier and vice versa.

All of this was like a slap to his face, but it was a life experience, which taught him the importance, if not stopping procrastinating the work process then at least choosing the topic of said work.

It was painful, it was a torture, he hated every second of it. Was sure it was not as pleasant for him as for the mentor. Nevertheless, Jaskier finished it, getting _D_ from his mentor, _E_ from his opponent and in the finale, thanks to being gifted with the silver tongue, he defended it with grade _D_ , grade far from perfect but it was all done and that was what mattered the most.

And then immediately after he started studying for his magister’s degree, from day one, he kept annoying associate professor Jasinski so he could be his mentor for magister’s thesis. It worked, the said associate professor, who liked Jaskier, who kept thinking he was one of his best students, would gladly tutor him on his magister’s. And so Jaskier’s magister’s thesis on the topic _Correlations between writing poetry and song lyrics_ exceeded everyone’s expectations. 

And even professor Stuchły, his ex-mentor, who was in the state exam committee couldn’t believe that this is something that Jaskier, who kept nearly failing almost all of his classes, wrote and defended with grade _A_ , confirmed by both his mentor and opponent, in this case, professor Dunajska from the department of contemporary poetry, who had no other objections that to give him _A_.

“So you were saying?” Jaskier went on.

“They recently listed up topics for bachelor’s theses and I’ve applied to associate professor Jasinski’s one and he accepted my request. So I just wanna ask the basics, how he’s during consultations, tips on writing and-” Essi went on and on and Jaskier blindly stared at her.

Jaskier had to interrupt her “Eh, hasn’t this had something to do with allegory?”

“Yes,” she exclaimed, “ _The meaning and usage of allegory in romantic poetry_ , why do you ask?”

“Essi…” Jaskier looked straight into her eyes, “That’s _my_ topic. I'm the supervisor for it.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You’ve heard right. Someone must have made an error in the school system because when I was checking it on the bus ride here I had no requests for the topic. Strange,” Jaskier sighed and cursed the goddamned university information system, which more than worked didn’t work, “Hey, if you want I could inform associate professor Jasinski and tell him about you?” he addressed Essi.

“No, not at all,” Essi shook her head and smiled, “You’re very smart and you're an expert in poetry and you’re also cool, I mean I look up to you and your poetry and your opinion matters to me. It’d be an honour to have you as a supervisor. If you’d take me under your wing of course,” Essi’s eyes shined. He couldn’t say no to her, could he? 

_Why do I keep running into these traps,_ Jaskier cursed in his mind. Firstly having in class his roommate’s daughter and then supervising his friend’s bachelor’s thesis. Was fate pulling some prank on his life, or what?

He needs to analyse the situation. Jaskier knew that Essi was very strong-minded and eager about poetry, as same as him. And moreso Jaskier knew, from experience, how good it felt to have a tutor who is both as passionate and as enthusiastic about the subject as you are, and how you literally keep finishing each other’s thoughts. This is what supported him in making his decision.

“Alright, you can write your thesis under me. I’ll settle the details with associate professor Jasinski later today if we will have some time left,” before Essi could have opened her mouth, Jaskier continued, “Some rules first. We’re friends, yes, that doesn’t change anything, but in school, we’re professionals, got it?”

“It’s a deal,” Essi smirked and packed up her things and stood up to leave for the class and before she could have run off she added, “Thank you, _Magister Pankratz._ Truly.”

“Just one more thing,” Jaskier stopped her and she turned to him, “Please don’t _ever_ call me Magister Pankratz,” a dramatic pause, “It makes me feel old.”

Essi smirked, “If something it makes you look like a responsible scholar.”

Jaskier couldn’t beg to differ. Adding the title _magister_ in front of his name surely increased his seriousness, because a postgrad student or not, by looks he still resembled a lively high schooler. On the other side, he wouldn’t have to worry about ageing as much as some of his peers do. Even at this young age.  
  


A few days later Jaskier’s phone rang while he was working on an article for a literary magazine. He was lying on the bed and typing on the laptop while listening to music. The writing process so far was going smoothly. He smiled when he saw the name, which called him, without hesitation he took the call, “Oh, hello, Geralt. How are you on this-”

“Do universities have autumn break the same as regular schools?” what kind of question was that? At least Geralt was straightforward with his questions and wasn’t beating around the bush.

“Ehm...more or less. I don’t teach, but I need to write. Why do you ask?” Jaskier wondered.

“You see, I have to stay here at least for two weeks.”

“And?”

“Me and Ciri always travel home during autumn break, however, this time Yen would have to drive Ciri here. If you’re free you could come here for a week, too. Spend time with us,” Geralt suggested as it would be a simple everyday thing.

“Oh, no, no,” Jaskier panted, deep in his heart he wanted to say yes, but his mind took the helm, “I don’t want to come in between you and your family during the break. That’s your special time… I’ll wait till you come back.” 

“You’re the most welcome to join us,” Geralt assured him, “They all have been asking about you. And after all, you’re my best friend.”

Jaskier’s heart stopped. Not only has Geralt been thinking about him, talking about him to his family, but he also wants to have him there with him and he called him his best friend. _Best friend._

“I want you there. Only if you want to,” Geralt added.

“Of course I want to. You’re my best friend too,” _you’re more than a best friend to me_ , Jaskier wanted to add, but the words were left unsaid, “I’ve been missing you,” he said instead.

“It’s a deal. We’ll see each other soon,” Geralt confirmed.

The warmth spread through Jaskier’s whole body. He was happy. He shined with happiness. _Next week._ Next week he would be with Geralt. If only time could pass more quickly. Couldn’t he just fast-forward to the next week?

The article, on which he was previously working, was saved as _a work in progress_. Jaskier would finish it later, now his mind was flying elsewhere.  
  


“So, Ciri what’s new at school? Any new gossip?” Jaskier asked, curiosity burning inside him.

The week flew by and soon enough Jaskier found himself sitting in Yennefer’s car, heading to the foreign realm, known as Silesia. Yennefer picked him up near his flat around early midday and they’ve been on the road ever since. 

The drive to their destination was in total about 340 kilometres and by GPS calculations they should reach their goal in 5 hours or so. The GPS surely didn’t put high hopes on them. However, the GPS didn’t know that it was Yennefer, who was driving the car, which was fairly speaking a big underestimate on its part. 

The teenager in the back seat groaned. Too engrossed in her phone to talk about the school of all things. 

“It's a break, leave her to be,” Yennefer stated, then turned and flashed a grin on the passenger’s seat occupant, “Jaskier, why don’t you tell us how are _you_ doing at school?”

Jaskier gasped dramatically, “Don’t you dare to use my own methods on me, you...you-”

Yennefer cleared her throat and shot him a look.

“You _bad witch,_ ” he exclaimed, at last.

“Hey, look McDonald! Can we stop?” Ciri’s yell interrupted their bickering. 

“You know that Geralt strictly disapproves of it,” Yennefer stated without taking her eyes off the road and spotted the billboard coming into their view.

“Yeah, but Geralt’s not here so...” Jaskier chipped in. He glanced back and Ciri’s eyes met his. It was a plan.

“He’s right, mom,” Ciri shot back, having made her mind. There was no going back, she was a stubborn one, just like her surrogate mother.

“Two against one my dearest witch girl,” Jaskier smiled sweetly.

Yennefer didn’t say anything, just kept driving. The car got silent, except for the news playing on the car radio, which kept reporting various road radars. Besides that, the two occupants, Ciri and Jaskier, who couldn’t keep their mouths shut, were _silently_ eyeing each other, unsure of either their victory or defeat. Yennefer just sighed and turned on blinkers and lined up to the motorway exit, which led to the infamous fast-food chain restaurant. Ciri and Jaskier grinned at each other and shared a knowing look. They won.

Upon finding an empty spot in the car park, Jaskier climbed out of the car and stood there with arms folded grinning at Yennefer, who busied herself with showing important things like phone, wallet, documents and car keys into her wallet. Meanwhile, Ciri straight-up ran to the restaurant, firstly to stand in the queue and secondly it was chilly and windy outside and she had only a t-shirt and shirt on.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Jaskier huffed.

“You’re thinking. Loudly,” with a click, Yennefer locked her car.

“Admit it I was right and then I’ll stop,” she gave him a look, “Well maybe.”

“Tell you something,” Yennefer poked him with her manicured index finger, “I just wanted to get a coffee because I’m sure I’ll need a huge portion of patience to deal with _you_ for the rest of the ride,” before Jaskier could have reacted she was grabbing him by the sleeve of his jumper and leading him inside, “Now forwards you, idiot. You’re shaking like a leaf, can’t let you catch a cold. Geralt would kill me.” 

Jaskier protested against it, but it was only an act, in truth he knew exactly why she was behaving like this. It was her way of showing that she cared. Jaskier didn't want to give in and give her that kind of satisfaction, he wanted to play by her rules so he wanted to piss her off a bit. Like an annoying younger sibling would do. And strangely this friendly bickering, which he had developed with her felt to him like second nature.

With their bellies full and no hungry whining teenager in the back, they were back on road for some time and were nearing their destination. The road passed quickly as Jaskier and Yennefer shifted back and forth between deep conversations to tenous ones. Very often Ciri jumped in and contributed to the conversation with her arguments and attitudes. She was a bright one, as Jaskier kept reminding.

On one occasion Jaskier and Ciri pretended the car radio was karaoke and they both had sung their lungs out. Then they considered themselves very lucky as Yennefer hadn’t thrown them out of the car and left stranded on the motorway in the middle of nothing, where even the phone signal was missing. Lucky they, really.

Jaskier who was his usual happy self during the whole ride with an approaching destination was growing restless. He got quieter and his breathing got quicker. 

Yennefer must have noticed it because she encouragingly said “It’s gonna be alright. You don’t have to worry,” Jaskier looked at her, “They don’t bite, but keep your eyes open for Lambert, mark my words.”

“But uncle Bert is the funniest,” Ciri protested, “Don’t listen to her Jaskier.”

Yennefer murmured something being a bad influence under her nose.

They drove alongside the road sign marking their destination, the village Rudy, Geralt’s and Ciri’s home. And from there it took just one more crossroad and two more streets, till the car finally stopped in front of Geralt’s house. 

Jaskier took a steadying breath, “Alright we’ll see how it goes. I’m ready.”  
  


A cheerful purebred black german shepherd at the gate greeted them, with a wagging tail it ran straight to the gate, as soon as it heard the car pulling up near the fence. On the doorstep watching from the afar laid a brown dog, with white paws and belly, of the uncertain breed, probably a mixed breed. Jaskier recognised it as Roach, Geralt’s beloved dog, who immediately raised her head upon spotting newcomers. Ciri fished out her keys and unlocked the front gate and ran straight to Roach, who started wagging her tail.

The said black german shepherd jumped to Jaskier and it would have easily knocked him down if the blond-haired man with a scar on his face hadn’t stepped in, “Down, Scorpion, down,” the man sternly said and the dog obediently sat down.

“I’m Eskel, hope Scorpion here didn’t scare you off,” and held his hand for Jaskier to take.

“Julian, but I prefer Jaskier,” he took the hand and shook it, “Is there some kind of tradition naming pets after other animals?” he wondered.

Eskel scratched the back of his head, “Well, I’ve never before thought of that. Could be.”

Jaskier shivered. From chill, from anxiety, who knows.

“You must be cold, come in please,” Eskel noticed his uneasiness and started to lead him to the house. Just as Jaskier glanced at Yennefer getting away from his sight his heart nearly skipped a beat. Eskel picked up on this and reassured him, she just went to give out some promised herbs to Vesemir and they’ll both join them in a while. Jaskier breathed out and finally allowed himself to be led by Geralt’s older brother inside.

On the sofa in the living room, a white cat with a grey tail and spots on head lazily stretched and yawned, clearly not thrilled to be disturbed from its sleep by people, inhabitants of this house, nonetheless, and their guest, stepping into the living room. The cat jumped down and walked to the kitchen, tail held up.

“And that was Lil’ Bleater in all her beauty,” another man, this time with curly ginger hair, shot at him. With a brisk pace, he walked to Jaskier and smirked at him, “You’re that _Jaskier_ , who Geralt can’t shut up about?”

Jaskier scoffed and pointed his index finger at him, “You’re that _Lambert_ Yennefer kept telling me to be careful around?”

They kept staring at each other until they both started laughing, “Fair enough, it seems like introductions are made,” Jaskier said and Lambert, Geralt’s younger brother, couldn’t agree more.

Soon the nervousness fell from him like leaves from trees in autumn. However, there were two very vital details. He has already met both his brothers, but where was Vesemir and most importantly, where was Geralt? Oh and the third one. Everyone here has a wolf head medallion just like-

“Lambert,” a deep voice disturbed his train of thoughts, “What did we tell you about already terrorizing him?”

There he was, “ _Geralt_ ,” standing on the foot of stairs with Ciri in a tow. Then the opening and closing of the front door were being heard and soon enough Vesemir showed off, by the look appearing engaged in a conversation with Yennefer. Ciri, upon seeing his grandfather, for a chance came running to him and immediately started talking his ear off.

Jaskier came up to Geralt and without more words just hugged him, “Hello,” he said, “Long time no see, huh? Your dog is so cute by the way. And don’t need to worry about me, I can deal with Lambert just fine, after all, I’m a professional at dealing with troublesome individuals, right Geralt?”

“I missed those long talks of yours,” Geralt smiled.

“Aha, now when I’m not around it’s suddenly engaging? You wound me Geralt, how-”

“Well, well it’s time for the dinner prepared as a welcoming of our special host here,” the head of the family came to stand in front of him, “Vesemir Rivia, father of those three boys and grandfather of that cunning lady,” he chuckled, “Nice to meet you Jaskier, welcome to our humble home, feel here as if it was your own.”

It surprised Jaskier that he called him by his nickname, art name, stage name, pseudonym, _whatever_ , it warmed his heart. He took the offered hand, “The pleasure is mine,” and flashed the brightest and the most genuine smile at him.

What awaited him in the kitchen wasn’t a dinner, it was a feast. The table was full, Vesemir’s cooking. He wanted to treat their guest rightly. A nice hot cream garlic soup, as not to catch a cold during this chilly autumn weather, and a rolled beef patty filled with onions, bacon and pickles with fried sauerkraut on the side as the main course.

After having eaten, Vesemir brought out a bottle of strong miodunka from the highest cupboard and poured everyone a shot, except Yennefer who still planned to drive back to Warsaw today and Ciri, who was underage and moodily kept rolling her eyes.

Vesemir raised his shot glass in a toast, “To Jaskier, our dearest guest,” and clinked glasses with Jaskier and everyone followed. When it was sure that everyone had clinked glass with each other then they drowned the mead in one go. Except, of course, Yennefer and Ciri who had to settle for a non-alcoholic opinion, such as apple juice.

Yennefer stood up from the table, “Thank you for the dinner dear Vesemir, but it looks like I must be on my way gentlemen,” and then added, “And my darling Ciri.”

“Now excuse us for a while,” she grabbed Jaskier aside, he yelped in an unexpected movement, as she led him outside, where she took him by the shoulders and looked straight into his eyes, “Now you need to promise me something. If _it_ gets too bad, talk to Geralt, okay?” both knowing what the “it” was, “Can I rely on you?”

“Yen… but this is not necessary, I’m fine,” Jaskier answered, bitterly.

“For now. Don’t forget how you were before we arrived,” Yennefer looked sternly at him.

“I promise Yen.”

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, “Now I must go, Triss and Sabrina are waiting for me.”

“To have some kind of witch seance?” he smirked.

“Yes exactly that,” Yennefer smiled mysteriously and waved him off.  
  


“That friend of yours is strangely really close to your ex. Aren’t you afraid he’s just friends with you so he can jump with her into bed,” in the kitchen over a bottle of beer Lambert theorized, “Not a clever idea if I should say myself.”

“Not everyone who spends time together wants to jump in bed together, Lambert. What are you twelve?” Eskel shot at him. According to Eskel, Lambert was still ongoing his puberty.

“He seems the type,” Lambert stated like it was a well-known fact like the Earth revolves around the Sun, “Come on, Geralt, you must have caught them doing something _dirty_. Enlighten us.”

Geralt didn’t need to. Image of catching Jaskier and Yennefer watching _Judge Barbara_ while sharing a bottle of prosecco between them and judging the stupidity of people and loudly commenting on it has overcome all existing limits.

 _“Why the fuck did she stole Maruszka from her? She was her the most_ favouuurite… _” Jaskier wailed._

_“Fuck Maruszka, what about Dashka? She was the most beautiful one, she didn’t deserve this,” Yennefer may have had wiped a tear._

_“Dashka was a goth chick, that’s why!”_

The particular episode was about the dispute between two neighbours, because of well, stolen chickens. Geralt had never ever seen them so emotionally involved in stolen chickens or bad television before.

“Oh, you got quiet. Something you don’t want to tell us, hm?” Lambert teased.

“Jaskier and Yen?” Geralt tsked, “They would rather kill each other before something could have happened. Believe me.”

Jaskier walked back into the kitchen at the right moment, “Oh, I see you weren’t bored without me here,” Geralt kicked Lambert under the table so he would keep his mouth shut, “Where are others?”

“Ciri is in her room and dad is preparing a guest room for you. Shall we join him?” Geralt suggested.

“Yeah, let’s go. I should put down my things somewhere and speaking of it I feel kind of weary on my feet,” Jaskier smiled sweetly at him.

Eskel and Lambert shared a look. Something was on.  
  


_“The first scents of autumn... can be smelt... can be felt…?”_ Jaskier was trying words aloud, “Geralt which one fits better, _can be smelt_ or _can be felt?_ ”

A silence, save from occasional wind’s howling and crunching leaves under his feet. All of this formed a kind of eerie touch to Jaskier’s composing. It was a sudden one, the inspiration struck him right here while walking in the dense forest. 

“Geralt?” 

Again nothing. No response, from said man. This was getting worrying. _Wait, what was that noise?_

 _Barking._ Roach’s barking. She was running straight to him and nodding her head as to show him to follow her. Jaskier wasn’t much experienced in dog language to read her, but his instinct was telling him to follow her, so he did as she wanted.

“Jaskier, here,” Geralt called from afar, crouched under the juniper tree.

“On my way,” yelled Jaskier back and guided by Roach rushed to Geralt’s side, where he immediately put down a basket near him, so he could put there a ‘family’ of big nicely shaped rydziks. 

Geralt and Jaskier decided to go for a walk to the forest stretching a little behind their house. So Roach, as they too, could stretch out their legs a bit and breathe fresh crisp autumn air. They took a basket with them, just in case they would find some mushrooms here. As the saying went, never go to a forest without bringing a basket. Along with a thermos filled with hot tea, some light snacks and a small blanket.

Basket, which was now swinging back and forth as Jaskier held it, as he and Geralt continued walking, side by side, on a tramped path deeper into the forest. 

“What do you think of my family? Have they made a good impression on you?” Geralt asked out of nowhere. It felt like he was waiting for the right moment to ask this question.

“To be honest I didn’t reckon that I have seen your brothers before, even if it was from afar. But thinking about it right now, it makes the perfect sense. The fair, the _not-knights_ trio,” Jaskier gestured with air quotes, “The play written by your father and then bumping into you. It’s like some higher force made us meet each other back then. I don’t know, a destiny, maybe?”

“There’s no such thing as destiny, Jaskier.”

“You can’t know that for sure. Maybe there is destiny and maybe there is not. How are we to know? We’re not the specialists on metaphysics, we can only just speculate on that fact and vivify our lives a bit.”

“I don’t doubt that, however, you’re drifting off-topic,” Geralt reminded him.

“Oh, right,” Jaskier caught up, “Your family, they’re just like you described them to me. Although a little more as you’ve described to me. No offence, Geralt, but next time try to put some colours into your descriptions, they’re terribly dry. Anyway, I can’t wait, when I get to catch on with your brothers and father on some embarrassing stories about you. Looking forward to it. We have the whole week for that,” he grinned viciously at Geralt, “Oh, there’s also this one thing. You speak with a clear silesian accent, the perfect dialectology textbook example.” 

“Jaskier, I’m Silesian.”

“I don’t doubt that. But your family, they speak differently. I don’t know how to describe it, yes it’s all silesian but also a different type of silesian, you know? Mainly the way you pronounce some vowels, you soften them, as we do in our Podhale dialect. Your family doesn’t though.”

“And you’re paying attention to this? Weren’t you supposed to think about your writing?” said Geralt, cutting up a nice oak mushroom. 

“Yes, I was. But this is far more interesting,” Jaskier grinned at him and stretched arm towards him so Geralt could put the picked up mushroom in the basket.

“Then make your dissertation about this. You still have time,” Geralt stood up and pocketed his knife.

“ _The mystery of Geralt Rivia’s Silesian dialect_ ,” Jaskier presented with grace, “Sure, it could win me a dean’s award, or kicking from school.”

“Who knows. You would pull it off.”

“Gee, thanks for having so much confidence in my dialectology skills, but you’re avoiding my initial question.”

“I don’t know, I just don’t have an idea, okay?” Geralt shrugged, “In school, they mocked me for my accent because my silesian dialect is and I quote one of my teachers _‘many silesian dialects torn apart and then stuck together with a tape’_. I don’t know what my original accent was, I just learned what I heard around me.”

“Are you sure?” Jaskier didn’t buy it.

“Alright,” Geralt sighed, “I learned a high silesian accent to impress and then it kind of stuck,” and so the cat was out of the bag.

“And you call _me_ the dramatic one?” Jaskier was trying to act serious but soon burst into laughter.

“S _hut up._ ” 

“By the way,” Jaskier rasped when he managed to catch his breath, “You fooled me by your accent, so hats off.”

Geralt grunted under his nose and whistled at Roach, apparently, it was a time for a snack break. Jaskier pulled out the thermos along with two small cups from the basket and poured tea for both of them and stealthily fed Roach a treat, while Geralt spread the small blanket on the forest ground.  
  


“I lied to you,” Jaskier blurted out after a while, their snack break slowly coming to its end.

Geralt looked at him confused, his eyebrows arched in puzzlement.

Jaskier kept staring straight ahead, clutching the cup in his hands, “When you asked me how was my day, a few days after you left, I wrote that I’ve been doing good, when in reality, I was a fucking mess. I just kept lying around and staring into the wall. I’m sorry.”

“For what are you sorry? That you hadn’t felt good? That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“No, Geralt,” Jaskier looked at him, “It’s me, my words, which I keep twisting to come to come to serve my benefit,” Geralt flinched inside, those were his words and they were haunting Jaskier, “I create lies. I lie to whom I care about. I lie so I can run away from the problems. But they always come back to bite me in the ass.”

“Jaskier?” the brunet hummed in an acknowledgement, “If it gets bad again, don’t be afraid to tell me. You can tell me when you’re not feeling good anytime. I’m here now and I’m not leaving,” Geralt clarified and he stood by his words, “Please tell me the truth, how are you feeling right now?”

“With you, right now it’s good. I’m good, very good in fact…”

“Jaskier…” Geralt forgot where he was going with this, instead, he gently grasped Jaskier’s hand in his and the brunet stared at him in anticipation. Then it came all to him, “Why _buttercups_?” referring to the tattoo on his left hand, which peaked over the sleeve of his coat.

Jaskier blinked, broke his arm free of Geralt’s light grasp, rolled up coat sleeve to get a good look at his tattoo.

“It’s a symbol,” he gulped, “Of who I chose to be,” he quietly murmured, “There’s a saying, be as bright as a buttercup and the sun will smile on you,” suddenly a ghost of a smile appeared on his face “And did you know that _Jaskier_ in old polish means buttercup?”

Geralt smiled and took his face into his hands, “I know about the meaning of your name since the day one. I’m just reminding you to not ever let anything lose your brightness, _buttercup_ ,” Jaskier smiled too and softly laughed.

They were so close. That was understandable as the blanket wasn’t much big, to begin with, so they sat with their shoulders brushing. However, now they were really close, kept staring into each other’s eyes. Geralt never before realized how vivid Jaskier’s blue eyes were up close. _God, he was beautiful._ He lifted his hand to sweep a lock of Jaskier’s hair from falling into his eyes, just as something threw both of them off balance.

It was Roach, who jumped down on them and then jumped on Geralt’s chest licking his face and demanding a stick to be thrown to her. Jaskier giggled as Roach kept licking Geralt’s face and the white-haired man struggled to pull her off his chest.

“I think it's the right time to head back,” said Jaskier as he stood up and kept brushing his coat and pants from the dirt and dust, “It’s getting dark and we don’t want to spend a night in this scary forest,” he paused, “Although, a night in a forest with a witcher and his hound, what a story it would make.”

“Terribly boring,” exclaimed Geralt, just as he had thrown a tree branch into the distance and the swooshing of the leaves was being heard as Roach ran through the leaves to find the right tree branch. “Only hedgehogs and squirrels live here and they are already hibernating. Sorry for crashing your illusions,” Geralt stated and pulled out a leaf, which got stuck in Jaskier’s hair.

“Hey, stop ruining my hair,” Jaskier immediately patted them to match their previous, unmessy, state.

“Who are you trying to impress? Monsters that lurk in the forest?” Geralt said in all seriousness.

“Very funny, _witcher_ ,” Jaskier huffed and stuck his tongue on him. A pile of leaves landed on his head. He would not let Geralt live for this.  
  


“How did you know about my name?” Jaskier asked out of the blue when they were nearing the road back to the village. It seemed like this walk was full of unexpected questions flying from both sides. 

It was already too dark and he was sticking close to Geralt so as not to get lost. The only available light was the one coming from the houses straight ahead, where the village was stretching. So even though he would get lost here, technically he should find his way back to Geralt’s house from here. But sticking close to Geralt meant safety because you never know what might lurk in the deep forest. Yes, Geralt said nothing big lived here, but one may never know what kind of secrets does the forest hide.

“It’s a dialect thing,” Geralt answered after a while, “Silesian draws from old polish and my father always called those yellow flowers _jaskry_.”

“My grandma did too. It’s funny how it’s all mixed and interconnected- Oh, wait where had Roach disappeared? Is she lost?” Jaskier gasped, noticing the absence of the third member of their mushroom hunting party.

Geralt didn’t bother, he just whistled and the said dog came running to him, from god where she had been before.

“How?”

“That’s a secret. Aren’t it, _Roachie_?” Geralt softly talked to his beloved dog, as if Jaskier hasn’t had enough increased heart papillations today.  
  


Jaskier was sitting on the sofa in a living room with a laptop on his lap and trying to finish that article from about a week ago. He just needed to formulate one more point and then draw a conclusion and it would be done. He was alone for now, Rivia’s brothers were busy with their work, Ciri went to visit old friends here in the village and Vesemir was engaged in cooking lunch. And Jaskier may as well spend this time productively and finish at least one of his _works in progress_ writings.

“Do you mind a little company?” sudden Vesemir’s voice interrupted his typing. He jerked, too engaged in his writing and not aware of his surroundings. Nevertheless, Jaskier shook his head and the older man sat on the sofa next to him. He picked up a book from the coffee table, a history one, took out the bookmark and continued reading right when he had left.

Vesemir knew from Geralt that Jaskier was doing a PhD in polish language and literature, but he was interested in what exactly he was oriented at, which in Geralt’s words was described as just _poetry_. Pretty broad meaning, that. He eyed Jaskier still typing on his laptop, book forgotten. Curiosity got the better of him, so he asked, “Tell me Jaskier, what’s your specialization in PhD?” 

“Oh,” Jaskier blinked, looking up from his work, and turning to look at Vesemir, “Comparative studies in poetry, more or less.”

“And this is the same topic you base your research on?”

“Mainly,” Jaskier opened the scheme document, a very chaotic one, on the laptop to show Vesemir around, “Firstly I’m comparing co-occurring figures, tropes, scansion in medieval and humanistic poetry with romantic poetry. Then based on the analysis I’ll create a base for let’s say the poetic model and lastly this model I’ll apply to my writing and analyse it once again, this time on a real-life example. And I also need to write a poetry book to go along with the dissertation. There’s so much to do and I’m only at the beginning of writing theoretical basics, good job me.”

“You have an idea about what you want to base your poems around?” Vesemir wondered.

“That’s the thing I wanted to ask you, just didn’t know how to come up with it,” Jaskier scratched the back of his head, “See, I write- well I want to write about witchers, as I came up with that neologism. Imitate the form of medieval ballads, but use a contemporary language and topics. That’ll be the form, however, the subject matter needs a lot of research. So, in that case, I wanted to ask you if you’ll help me with my research on _vedmak_ mythology? I can promise to be as considerate to the source material as I could be.”

“Actually, there’s also one thing I wanted to ask of you, similar to the thing you’ve described to me,” the old man confessed, “I know you have a lot of things going over your head, however, could I ask you to look at something? It surely needs an expert’s eye.”

“Well, I doubt I’m the expert you’re looking for, but sure. I can try.”

Vesemir stood up and went to his room to fetch some papers. He returned a few minutes later with the work in coil binding and handed it to Jaskier, “This is the play I wrote for the renaissance fair, you were attending and based your song on it. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and thought that I may say, my idea was good whereas my story delivering was not. You understand writing and storytelling more than I do, would you mind taking a look?”

Jaskier quickly flipped through the pages and after a while replied, “I don’t see why not. Tell me what’s your initial vision for this play, give me some pointers on which I should focus on and I’ll look at what I can do.”

“Thank you very much, boy,” Vesemir warmly smiled and started talking as Jaskier kept writing down notes on the spare papers.  
  


“Let’s break it down then. Firstly to me, it seems that it’s missing its point,” Jaskier stated after reading through the script _twice_ and making corrector’s marks along with personal notes straight into the bound document. Vesemir gave him as much time as he needed and as not to disturb him while he worked he went to supervise roof repairs, as to avoid slacking off of certain _someone_.

“Don’t get me wrong, I understand the direction you wanted to take it, however, I think it lacks something. Something, which would give it some spark, right now it feels very bland and straightforward. You see, we’re talking about parodying the legend’s retelling, so maybe some fantastical elements would smarten it up. You compare it with my song, but in all honesty, don’t ask me why it was written the way it is because I don’t know either. It was simply improvised on the spot.”

“Also,” Jaskier switched to the next point, “The truth is we can’t write medievalist epics about chivalrous knights anymore. It is something we once went through, the idea is already completed way back and thus it’s not the current topic for literature to dwell on. We can however mimic its style and finish what the medieval times wanted to tell us. This however never will be pure medievalism for it’s addressed with its prefix, _neomedievalism_. However, that’s still far away from what you want your story to be. Oh and, by the way, the romanticism movement could be basically neomedievalism, but that’s a bit debatable...and I'm turning away from the topic, I am not?” he stopped in his speech and looked to Vesemir, who signalled to him with his hand to continue, “Anyways to wrap it up, what you aim to write is so-called _postmedievalism_. Nowadays we can’t write literature without addressing, consciously or unconsciously some critical standpoint of some aspect and what do you want to interlay, though your play has pretty strong postmodernism aspects. What you wrote up it’s the critique of the blind celebration of heroism, which strikes me as a very postmodern topic.”

“Do you think my play would work, if we tweaked something here and there? How do you personally see it? You have creative freedom, after all, you’re the expert here not me,” Vesemir chuckled. 

“Umm… well, in my opinion as we take into consideration the mysterious devil character, which was only mentioned in the beginning, there could be an actual devil character present. To illustrate the discourse through an allegory. The devil themselves would stand as _an advocatus diaboli_ between the two groups, each one the other edge of polarity, which is blindingly obvious from the writing,” Jaskier, now completely switched into his teacher role, stood up and started to pace around the living room, “And I think, but now I’m going too far into magical realism or fantasy settings, but one group should be, you know, different, non-human. Like elves, I used in my song, perhaps?”

“You’re right, but I think there’s one more thing,” Vesemir held out his finger in the air.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve mentioned that stories back then were embellished and dichotomic. I agree with you. And if we want to achieve the critique, as you’ve said, we need to focus on writing it from a different perspective, right?” Jaskier nodded, “We need to simultaneously show two different views of the same story. I suggest there should be a witcher’s tag along.”

“Hmm…” _the plurality of opinions, good postmodern thinking,_ “So through this tag along or side-kick we tell the embellished story, concurrently with the real one story. Let’s summarize what we want to achieve,” Jaskier clasped his hands, “Two overlining narratives, one celebrating the heroism whereas the other showing the exact opposite. These two narratives are contradictory but still work so well together. What lies in between these two narratives is the core of it all and how it is read is up to each reader’s interpretation. And now for the next question, so who do you think would be the side-kick? Someone who is influential, but also keeps in the background so as not to overshadow the main story. Any thoughts?”  
  


_“At the end to go down in history people had to paint themselves as heroes, otherwise history tended to forget them. Even though history as fate kept picking its favourites, which authors immortalized in their work, the literature’s task was to break this common cycle. The theme of the overly celebrated heroism is in contemporary poetry considered kitsch, contemporary poetry rather focuses on the naturalism of life. By crossing these two antagonistic themes in the literature, it led to the formation of a new antihero archetype. To further actualize the given topic, we must once again shift our views. What if the common folk, the flawed outsider, was the real hero, but the society stroked him off?”_

\- Mgr Julian A. Pankratz, extract from the PhD dissertation  
  


An idea flared over Vesemir’s head, “What if it was a bard and he would sing your song? With your permission and credit, of course. Someone also named after a flower, be it I don’t know…. Słonecznik... or Marigold… or-”

“Marigold,” Jaskier exclaimed, “ _Bard Marigold._ I’d like the ring to it, let’s go with it.”

“Then it’s settled. Once again thank you very much for looking into it and helping with breaking and narrowing it down, Jaskier,” Vesemir settled a hand on his shoulder, “Be it known that I appreciate your dedication and zealousness for your craft. How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, no, no,” Jaskier withdrew from him and started wildly gesturing, “You don’t owe me anything. You’re already letting me stay here, are cooking for me and I should be the one paying you, not you to me.”

“Listen Jaskier,” Vesemir put his hand again on Jaskier’s shoulder, “You’re our guest here, we want you here, so it’s obvious we want you to feel at home here. We don’t need anything in return, just your smile and good mood is the payment itself. But you offered me your services, for which you’re qualified. Why shouldn’t I pay for the work well done?”

“What about a barter, then? Stories about _witchers_ in as much detail as possible?” Jaskier proposed.

“Deal,” agreed on Vesemir, already eyeing the old dusty books on the top of the bookshelf.   
  


In the evening after dinner, it was Geralt’s turn to wash the dishes. The rest of the family had already moved to the living room, where everyone seemed captivated by some newly released futuristic video game. Currently from the living room could be heard a quarrel between Eskel and Lambert about whose turn to play is now. They haven’t changed a bit, just as if they had never grown up. Vesemir smiled softly at this thought. Having nothing better to do, he rolled up his sleeves and joined Geralt in washing the dishes. 

“Geralt, I talked with your boy. I’m happy for you. You chose well, a scholar and a very passionate one.”

“Mm,” Geralt mumbled into the soap bubbles.

“What’s on your mind, son?”

“How was he to you?”

“You should have seen him, the boy kept talking and talking. Though I didn’t understand most of it, I didn’t have the heart to interrupt him. He seemed so engrossed and passionate in his talking. It was like listening to a university professor giving his lecture.”

“He does teach at the university,” Geralt stated matter of factly.

“Really? And neither of you bothered to tell me,” Vesemir tsked as he wiped the dishes, “Someday if he’ll continue with this path, he will make a great professor. Kind, compassionate, caring and passionate about his subject. I can see it in his eyes. Guard him well, Geralt. There aren't as many as him, he’s special.”

“I know he is. But he doesn’t feel like that. He’s not sure of himself and I don’t know how to help him,” Geralt frowned.

“I’ll give you advice, Geralt. Regarding his academic troubles, you don’t need to have an understanding of what he’s saying, just listen to him. When he’s doubting himself, encourage him, tell him whatever happens you believe in him,” the other man kept stacking the plates into the cupboard, “And as for personal life troubles, you don’t need to work miracles, just be there for him, show him that you care and that’ll be always enough,” Geralt nodded, finishing putting the cutlery in a drawer.

“Now we should join them,” Vesemir suggested, pointing into the direction of the living room, “Check out that futuristic _wonder_ which managed to captivate them so much.”  
  


Next days carried in a similar fashion, Jaskier has already fallen into their pattern. Having breakfast in the morning with everyone at the table, after which Rivia’s brothers mostly kept securing and adding final touches to the fallen roof in the back of the house, where, fortunately, only one spare guest room, garage and storage were located.

On the first day of Jaskier’s stay, he turned on his laptop and wanted to write, but the writing was soon forgotten. There was just _so much_ one could do! Playing with dogs, who to his surprise kept obeying him, the cat didn’t. Keeping Rivia’s brothers’ company while they worked. Spending time with Vesemir, with whom he engaged in deep debates, while the man either cooked, crafted something or worked in a garden, although a lesser now as it was autumn. Once he agreed to be Ciri’s partner for sword-fighting. It didn’t end well. She just wanted to show off her skills to him, _little shit._

In the afternoons after lunch, Rivia’s brothers were showing Jaskier around. They went into the village for walks, to show Jaskier all nooks where they were growing up. One day they stopped in a local pub for a beer. One round turned into three, so the next day was for sure a cheerful one for everyone involved. Vesemir shook his head over them, Ciri just giggled. One time Vesemir pulled out from the shelf thick old books about the origins of _vedmak_ and so then the whole afternoon was spent with Jaskier and Vesemir hunched together over the old books. Jaskier asking a million questions and taking notes constantly. New material for his writing, finally. When Geralt and Vesemir were busy with one unruly beam, the rest of the family, specifically Lambert, organised a sword fighting match in the garden, to show Jaskier what connected the Rivia family. The winner was Ciri, who beat Lambert in the final round. Lambert was offended by being beaten by his niece, but Ciri wasn’t just an ordinary girl, was she?

After having dinner together in the evening, everyone retired to their own things. Be it playing games, reading, being on the phone or simply relaxing. Jaskier was often being persuaded to play something on the lute, which he, of course, brought with. He played and sang _Toss a Coin_ , much to everyone’s dismay, except Lambert’s and Ciri’s, who were enjoying seeing others ‘suffer’. Jaskier was not surprised, he himself was annoyed with that song, his own song nonetheless. Ciri and Lambert were just little shits.

All in all, Jaskier had a great time. Geralt's family was amazing, they all immediately clicked. He didn't feel like an intruder here, some stranger, but rather as a part of them. However, these days of bliss will be over soon.  
  


It was last night before they would be leaving for Warsaw. Their things were already packed and left waiting in the hall. Vesemir secretly managed to slip a 100 Zł banknote into Jaskier’s bag. The old man was the man of the word and insisted on paying his part and Jaskier deserved every grosz for his well-done work.

Right now the whole house was asleep, except Geralt and Jaskier, who were sitting downstairs in the living room and playing video games. Well, Geralt was playing and Jaskier was watching and providing commentary and asking a million questions like who is who, what is what, why did you kill this man while busing himself with a bag of crisps.

Geralt was playing some fantasy medieval based game with a lot of sword fighting and magic, where his customized character looked like Geralt himself, just in armour and with two swords on his back. Jaskier naturally took an interest in this game, the setting and the atmosphere were too familiar, now where and when had he experienced it before?

“Oh, god Geralt, have you seen your girl, she’s so good with swords,” Jaskier suddenly got reminded of watching Ciri sparring with Lambert a few days ago, “I almost couldn’t recognise her. This is not a princess she claims to be, that girl is full-blown ferocious lioness! Well, she’s the striking image of her father,” Jaskier raved, “Geralt, do you still sword fight?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why? Eskel and Lambert said you used to do it together all the time. That’s such a cool and unique skill to put down,” Jaskier kept snooping. 

He knew that Geralt had some history with sword fighting, no doubt, as when they had met when one of them was cosplaying as a bard and other as a knight, which was later revealed to him that it was in fact vedmak, not a knight. But still, Geralt was bearing a sword, two swords in fact, so it counted, right?

“An injury.”

“Your leg? That’s why it hurts you when the weather’s bad? I’m sorry I didn’t know, ”Jaskier backed up quickly, understanding why Geralt didn't like to speak about this topic in particular. Moreover, he was feeling guilty now, as he was often trying to get out of Geralt information about this part of his life.

“You don’t know the whole story, do you?” Geralt asked, softly.

Jaskier shook his head.

Geralt took his hands in his and looked into Jaskier’s eyes, “Would you like to know?”

“Yes,” he exclaimed and immediately halted, drawing his hands from Geralt’s grasp and started gesturing vividly, “I mean…only if you’re comfortable, you don’t owe me this.”

“Alright, so you know back in high school I was a bike enthusiast. It nearly cost me my life,” Geralt put down the controller and started speaking.  
  


_He was going back home from his trip to the nearby village Wilcza. Lately, his life has been falling apart, a few months ago he and Yennefer had another discrepancy, which led to another breakup and this time it looked like this was the definitive end of their relationship. His grades have been dropping down and_ the matura _was knocking on the door. He, however, did not care. Only late-night bike rides though the region could cheer him up. Everything was quiet and it was peaceful, almost serene like._

_It was a ride like every other, the roads were empty and quiet. Not until when in a split second a car flew past him. It went fast, tremendously fast. A way over the speed limit. The car pulled ahead and while it wanted to line up to the second lane it narrowly missed and hit Geralt instead._

_It all happened in a blink of an eye, one moment he was riding like nothing in the world mattered and in another one, a car thrust into his side sending him falling down from the motorbike into the bushes on the roadside._

_The said car vanished in the distance and it was never seen again._

_Geralt recalled screeching of the tires and when the dreadful pain hit him, he embraced it._ I just want to go home... _was the last thing on his mind before everything faded to black._

_Then in one moment he felt movements, heard shouts, but couldn’t make up any words. Next moment everything faded once again and he went completely still. How much time had even passed was unclear. Everything around him was blurry and hazy. He didn’t remember opening his eyes. Although he recalled a dash of ginger hair in his vision’s field.  
  
_

_When he opened his eyes again he was lying in the hospital bed. The steady beeps of machines. Heavy cast on his right arm and leg. His left hand was clasped in his father’s calloused hands. The worry was readable on his whole face._

_“Ma?”_

_“It’s me Geralt,” Vesemir, his father appeared in his vision’s field, “There’s no one else.”_

_It didn’t satisfy Geralt as he frantically kept looking around. Looking for someone._

_“Son, what is it?”_

_“She was here,” Geralt whispered through cracked lips, “H-healed me.”_

_“Who?”_

_“She._ Mother... _” Geralt rasped.  
  
_

_It was all one big blur to him. He was found by the passing driver who was coming back home from his business trip. The stranger without thinking more about it immediately tore up a piece from his jacket and used it as a makeshift bandage for Geralt’s leg, which had an open fracture. He carefully picked him up and gently laid in the backseat of his car and raced, however at a reasonable speed limit, to the nearest hospital, which in this case was in Katowice._

_“I’m a doctor, but you know that already.”_

_There were hands on him, lifting him, shifting. Then a pinch in his hand. The movement around him, machines beeping, voices talking..._ were they talking to him? _One person sat down next to him and tore the blood-stained makeshift bandage, which he was wearing. Then gently took his hand in theirs. Their touch, warm and soft…_ a healer’s touch. _He opened his eyes and spotted the flash of the familiar ginger hair again. He was shifting back and forth between consciousness, the already given pain medications were making him see and hear things. He was sure. He died and this was an afterlife if something like that even existed in the first place._

_“Your rare condition saved you. Immunity response far more stronger than ordinary man’s,” the voice above him said. Woman’s voice. He blinked, and in front of him saw a blur of ginger. The woman avoided looking into his eyes, focusing on tending his leg and arm. There was something so familiar about her. Like they had met before._

_Recognition flared in his eyes. He knew this woman._ Ma _. The mother who left her son in the unfamiliar village years ago. She may still have that motherly touch, but besides that, he held no feeling towards her as a son should hold for his mother._

_“I survived, but you know that already too,” Geralt delivered this line matter of factly._

_“It’s my profession. The only thing I’ve ever been good at,” she said in a monotone voice without taking her eyes off cleaning and disinfecting his wounds._

_“I want you to look at me,” he painfully, with the help of his good arm, sat up. The ‘mother’ leaned closer and for the first time, their eyes had met._

_“How do you like my eyes?” Geralt whispered, a mixture of rage and pain defining his voice, “Do you know what they do to make them like this?”_

_“Stop it Geralt,” she snapped._

_“Do you know it doesn’t always work?”_

_“Stop it_ Geralt! _”_

 _“You don’t get to use that name._ Vesemir _gave me that name,” his voice cracked, “Three out of ten survive the treatment. Tell me at least you didn’t know this when you left me in the village alone,” there was no rage left in him anymore, just despair. He just wanted to know why. Why had she left him back then? Why there? Did she know about his illness and wanted to get rid of him because of it? If she's a doctor why didn’t she then try to help him?_

_So many questions and sadly no answers, which would satisfy both sides. Emotions swimming inside him, combined with pain medication flowing to his veins made him dizzy, the room blurring in front of him. Suddenly a pair of arms, strong but gentle, pulled him back down into the lying position._

_“It’s time to sleep. The medicine will start working soon.”_

_“You trusted destiny, instead of trying to help me yourself,” Geralt rasply whispered, hurt still present in his voice._

_“Sleep Geralt,” her voice was already fading. Her presence disappearing. Everything went back to silent now._

_“Mom, please don’t go,” drifting in and out of consciousness again, he kept calling, his surroundings blurring in front of his eyes and then only darkness and nothingness. No dash of ginger hair in sight._

_“Ma!”  
  
_

_“Son, nobody like that was there. You must have had dreamed it, doctors told me you were screaming in your sleep,” Vesemir kept gently running his fingers through his child’s tangled messy hair, “Hush now, everything is now alright. You’re safe.”_

_Geralt didn’t know if the encounter with the woman, who was his mother, was real or just a product of his drugged mind. It seemed he would never know the real answer and maybe it was for the better._

_“Sleep now,” his actual_ father _took his hand in his, as a form of comfort, showing he was there for him, ”Eskel and Lambert will be here soon. They are so worried about you.”_

 _His_ family _would be there for him and that was all that mattered right now. He felt safe. He closed his eyes and let the sleep take him.  
  
_

_Although, indeed on that fateful night, as could be looked up in the hospital records, the certain ginger-haired doctor had a night shift in A &E and during that shift she had treated a young man, who was brought to the hospital due to the motorbike accident. The hospital had never heard of her again.  
  
_

As Geralt finished his story, Jaskier looked at him through tear-stained eyes and wide-open mouth in shock. He couldn’t believe what he had just heard. He had no words for the rage, pain and disgust he felt aimed at one certain person. Correction, two persons. Now he had the whole picture in front of him and everything fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Without thinking he jumped at Geralt and wrapped arms around his neck. Head leaning on his shoulder, cheek brushing against his messy white hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry to hear what you went through. You didn’t deserve it. I know it must sound pathetic coming from someone like me,” tears started welling in his eyes which made him squeeze Geralt even tighter, “I hope that bloody driver now has a miserable life. He doesn’t deserve anything else. And that _woman_ too. If I only could do something to ease you of your pain.”

Geralt reached out his hand to wipe out Jaskier’s tears with his thumb, “You did. You listened to me. You’re not scared of me, you don’t despise me for my scars like others do. After everything, you stayed and had not left,” looking into those bright, now lined with tears, blue eyes of his, he couldn’t contain himself more. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier and pressed him to his chest and whispered, “Thank you, Jaskier. Truly.”

“I won’t ever leave your side, Geralt,” Jaskier promised, “Nobody deserves what you went through. Except for that driver, though. It's unfair how cruel this world can be towards so kind individuals. Maybe you have scars now and your bones creak now but they creak with applause. After all, you fought your way out of hell, so a big middle finger to all the fuckers whoever judged you. You owe them nothing, not your apology or explanation. They don’t deserve your kindness.” 

They sat like that for a while, time forgotten, enlocked in each other’s embrace. It was nice, it was comforting, it felt _just right_. Unfortunately, it was getting late, very late and tomorrow was behind the corner.

“We should go to bed, we have a pretty hefty day ahead of us. You coming?” Jaskier stood up and reached a hand for him to take.

“Together?”

“Of course, _dear heart_. After everything you’ve told me, I have no intention of leaving you alone tonight.”  
  


“I like it,” Geralt whispered.

“Huh?” Jaskier grumbled face pressed into the pillow. What did he like? Them lying side by side in his childhood bed? It wasn’t like this hasn’t happened on the other side, before.

“When you’re responsible for once,” Geralt admitted.

“I can change my mind, you know?” 

“I know, but you won’t. I know you _that_ well.”

“You’re so sure?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt subtly kicked him.

“Ow,” Jaskier whined, “I have a bigger bed at home.”

“And your point is?” Geralt smirked and softly laughed. That smirk. Oh, that _smirk_.

“That I could just stay on my part and you won’t kick me again,” Jaskier stuck his tongue out on him, thinking Geralt could hardly see it under the darkness’ veil.

Nevertheless, Geralt saw it, “Goodnight Jaskier,” he whispered as he made a move to wrap up his arm around the sleepy brunet on the other side of the bed. 

“I ‘et it pass...” Jaskier melted into the touch, “...t’is tim’...”

“When we had a loong break in between the classes, me and classmates used to go to markets and drink mulled wine and punch,” Jaskier narrated an anecdote from his life to pass the time, “Let me tell you that the evening literature class was ehm… interesting.”

“To put it firmly, you were shitfaced,” Yennefer stated.

“But the interpretations your brain came with!”

“That’s how literary scholars operate, am I wrong?” his raven-haired friend humoured him.

“No, we’re sober,” Yennefer gave him a look of disbelief, “Okay, well mostly sober,” Jaskier corrected himself.

One day at the beginning of December Ciri suggested a trip to the Christmas market as they lived in Warsaw and it would be such a shame not to pay a visit. Yennefer agreed, she herself wanted to see what all the fuss was about and even persuaded Geralt to go with them, making it _a family outing_. Of course, as it was known Geralt and his roommate were inseparable, so in inviting Geralt, inviting Jaskier was included. Yennefer didn’t mind, and what’s more, she was happy. During nearly one and a half year of knowing Jaskier, she began to take him as the part of their little makeshift family.

When delivering plans of a trip to Geralt, the said man simply grunted, claiming these crowded and festive places were nothing for him, but Jaskier being Jaskier and his pleading eyes convicted him so Geralt simply gave in and agreed.

They agreed on a weekday, as it tended to be less crowded and more atmospheric. Yennefer and Jaskier, who ended up fairly early at work on that day, were already standing on their agreed meetup spot, near a big Christmas tree in the old town square. Two of them were waiting for Geralt and Ciri to arrive, as Ciri had a long day at school and Geralt went to pick her up and afterwards they would head straight to the market.

“Now where are those two?” Jaskier started to pace impatiently, “They were supposed to be there about half an hour ago!”

“It’s been only six minutes,” Yennefer answered calmly.

“Well, it feels like ages! Where are-”, Jaskier spotted in the distance two familiar figures walking towards them, “Finally! You took your time,” Jaskier welcomed them with crossed arms.

“You’re one to talk,” said Geralt, mirroring Jaskier’s posture. Ciri softly giggled.

“Gentlemen,” Yennefer stepped between them, “If we want to have some punch we should hurry up till they run out.”

Geralt and Jaskier shared a look and shrugged and hurried to keep a pace with Yennefer and Ciri, who already were mingling along the stalls.  
  


The smell of mulled wine, punch, cinnamon and other festive food and sweets along with the sounds of Christmas carols, bells and bustling of people carried through the air. Trees were intertwined in the light strings, which shimmered and shined, and made them look like something from a fairy tale. And of course, dazzling Christmas lights and many various decorations and light installations completed the atmosphere of the Christmas market.

Firstly they mindlessly walked through the market checking out the many various handmade products and local food stalls. Geralt found a smith who in front of you forged a little horseshoe of luck along with a little personalized message. Yennefer found herself engrossed in a stall, which sold crystal amulets, doubting the veritableness of the selling wares. Ciri awed at various woodcut brooches, which resembled stylized animals. Jaskier looked for the perfect souvenir, some memento of this day, and ended up purchasing a magnet in the shape of a snowflake to put on their fridge collection.

Then Jaskier persuaded all of them to take a group photo to commemorate this day. They stopped in front of many light installations, the one which spoke the most to them was the one with the polar bear in a scarf holding a wrapped up present. Ciri was grinning from ear to ear, Yennefer’s smile at first glance could appear mischievous but if one knew Yennefer long enough then could tell that this smile was nothing but genuine. Even Geralt, who always kept his stone face facade, was smiling, the corners of his mouth twitching into a small but soft smile. The one he reserved only for the loved ones. Jaskier himself held the phone up in the air to snap the photo and with a broad smile looked to the camera. How could he not smile, when behind him stood people, who he loved the most.

Next day, he would go to print out this photo and send it to his grandma as a postcard. She was an old-fashioned soul and Jaskier was sure she would love it and show it to her friends. And while he’s at it, he would also print out one more photograph and put it on his desk in the office, to keep him company while he worked. _Yes, that was a great idea_ , he thought to himself.

After walking more though the market area, which was located in the old town centre just under the Warsaw castle, it was getting late and the cold started seeping into their bones. They kept looking forward to finding a stall selling Christmas punch to warm them up. Stopping at the first one they’ve found, all three of them bought a cup of this delicate hot Christmas beverage and sipped it slowly, favouring the characteristic spicy flavour. Standing in one of many standing places, which in this case was made of an old barrel, they let the hot beverage warm them up a bit. 

Meanwhile, Ciri was pouting at all three of them. She had a reason, they wouldn’t let her have a _real_ Christmas punch with just a little dash of wine, instead offering her the children’s non-alcoholic version or hot chocolate. What was she a child?

“Here Ciri, go buy some gingerbread, ” Yennefer offered and Ciri shook her head in a grumble, “And you can buy that lioness brooch, which you were eyeing before, too.”

Ciri’s eyes shined, “R-really? It’s not that big a deal, the brooch,” she nervously played with her hair.

“I insist, daughter. We must treat ourselves from time to time,” Yennefer softly smiled at her daughter, her Ciri.

“Thank you, mom,” she excitedly exclaimed.

“Hey, I want a gingerbread, too,” Jaskier pouted.

Yennefer sighed and handed Ciri money, “Buy gingerbread for _the big baby_ here too. We’ll wait for you here.”

When Ciri came running to find the stall selling gingerbreads, Yennefer turned to Jaskier and whispered, “You owe me that.”

“Why?” Jaskier blinked at her, “Isn’t it nice to treat a good friend from time to time? Doesn’t it warm your heart a bit?” 

“Alright, a change of mind. Consider it as a favour from me.”

“What’s the catch?” Jaskier wondered, you never know with Yennefer.

“Are you familiar with the bad witch, who wanted to stuff kids with gingerbreads and then eat them, hm?”

Before Jaskier could have shot a sarcastic response at her, Ciri returned, a lioness brooch already pinned to her blue coat. She carried two gingerbreads, gave one to Jaskier, the one in the shape of a wolf head and smirked. Jaskier thanked her, confused why she was smirking at him for the whole time and put it in his kanken backpack. There they bid their goodbyes as Yennefer and Ciri went their way home and Geralt and Jaskier went the opposite way home.  
  


“So, what do you say Geralt? Everything is nicely lit and the colours oh gosh,” Geralt was quiet, in fact, he was quiet and withdrawn for all this trip, “Geralt is something matter? You’ve been strangely quiet, more than usual, and just generally...off.”

Geralt didn’t reply, just kept walking alongside Jaskier, head down.

“What’s wrong, tell me... did I do something to make you upset?” Jaskier’s breath quickened up, “If so, I’m sorry for whatever I did. Please tell me, so I can stop doing it. _Please_ ,” he almost whispered in a trembling voice.

Geralt lifted his head to look at him. Distress clearly visible on his face with his jaw and forehead tense, “Not your fault. The lights...the people...too much…” he muttered and winced in pain.

Jaskier immediately knew what was happening. Geralt’s senses due to his treatment were sensitive and around many stimuli, he quickly became overwhelmed. The atmosphere of the Christmas market where many various stirs were interfering took a toll on Geralt. And Jaskier was the one who persuaded him to come here. He needs to fix this. As he remembered, when Geralt once told him, holding onto something familiar would ground him. As so he uttered the first thing, which crossed his mind, “Would it help if I would hold your hand?”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier gently grabbed his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and started leading him away from the market’s fuss. The walk home was one big blur for both of them and no one of them hadn't noticed, or simply forgot, that they held hands even though they were no longer in the focal point of the hustle, but relatively in quiet streets leading to their neighbourhood.  
  


Later that evening, Geralt was sitting quietly in the living room and playing video games on the console. Jaskier gently knocked on the door frame, which grabbed Geralt’s attention, “Do you want company? I’ve brought tea for us,” Jaskier timidly asked.

Geralt nodded and patted the spot on the couch. Jaskier put the tray with two mugs of the steaming tea and gingerbread on the coffee table and settled himself on the sofa next to Geralt, however keeping a distance.

“That’s chamomile,” Jaskier pointed out to the mugs sitting on the coffee table in front of them, “It’s going to calm you and make you feel relaxed. Speaking from the experience.”

Besides the game effects and soundtrack, the living room was silent.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have forced you to come there,” Jaskier fidgeted with his hands, “You didn’t want to come and you had your reasons. It was selfish of me to persuade you to go with us, I’m sorry once again. Can you forgive me? I understand if you can’t.”

Geralt couldn’t believe his eyes and ears, in front of him was Jaskier who was upset and apologizing on his behalf. If it was someone’s fault it was Geralt’s own fault. For agreeing to come, even if he could decline. Nevertheless, he wanted to go and spend time with them, his family, even if he right now was punished with a pulsing headache for not taking his health into consideration, but he would not trade the time spent today with them. For nothing, even for this.

Reaching for Jaskier and wrapping him in a one-armed hug Geralt spoke up, “None of this is your fault. I wanted to come and spend time together, even if it came down with penance like this, I don’t regret a single minute spent together. And thank you, I feel far better now.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Geralt put a finger on his lips.

Jaskier blushed, though Geralt couldn’t see it as it was dark and the only source of light was the television, “Next time, just tell me, when it gets bad so we can leave and avoid this, okay?” Jaskier spoke up as he broke down the gingerbread in halves and offered one to Geralt. Half of a wolf head.

Slowly sipping their tea and nibbling on the halved gingerbreads, Jaskier felt at peace and even forgot about the credit tests, which he has to put together for his students. Not now though, there would be enough time for it tomorrow. Soon Jaskier leaned into Geralt’s shoulder and kept watching as Geralt was fighting imaginary monsters on the screen.

Travelling back to his hometown was always quite an unpredictable journey. This time Geralt bid him farewell right on the platform in front of his leaving train to Kraków and stayed when Jaskier, like a woman in romantic films, waved him off till Geralt and the platform disappeared from view. It wasn’t like this was a forever goodbye, they would see each other again after holidays, but two weeks spent in the company of his parents would be a hard nut to crack. 

Jaskier put on headphones and switched through his many Spotify playlists till eventually settling on one. He made himself comfortable in the seat and leaned into the window to watch the passing winter scenery as he slipped into the land of the daydreams.

Arriving in Kraków, after five hours with half an hour delay, he was lucky to catch the bus to Zakopane, as he found out, due to the heavy snow the trains going in the south direction were renounced. The nearly three hours long bus ride wasn’t as pleasant and as comfortable as the train one. The motor in the bus kept breaking down and it was a miracle that they reached the final destination.

It already got really dark, when he got off the bus and kept walking, a lute case slung on his back and luggage dragged behind himself. The long street leading from the train and bus station to the town centre was covered in snow and wasn’t yet properly shovelled so it made walking, even with luggage dragging behind a lot more difficult. What could one expect? This was Podhale, land under the mountains, this was more than common here.

He was soon led to the town centre, where everything shone with lights and the merry atmosphere of the Christmas market in his hometown lured him in. Especially a stall, where they sold hot beer mixed with raspberry lemonade, his guilty pleasure and favourite seasonal drink, which could be found only in Podhale region, his homeland. Slowly sipping his drink he continued walking towards his parents’ house.  
  


There was him, at home, _his parents’ house_ , for two days now and surprisingly things were going fairly alright between them. His parents, far to their credit, were acting very cheery and good-spirited, that Jaskier even wondered if someone hadn't replaced them. Or if the fact that tomorrow was Christmas Eve played a huge role in their merry spirits.

What to give one for Christmas was always a big dilemma. This year, however, it went smoothly, very smoothly one may say. For his parents, he got a bottle of quality wine and mead along with a decorated wine opener. For his grandma, he got a collection of kitchen herbs and pastes from Yennefer. She didn’t even let him pay for that, claiming “Just buy me a drink and we’re even.” Regarding gifts for his _Warsaw family_ , they were left back in the flat, waiting to be given out after holidays.

Jaskier used these two days at home productively. The day after he arrived, he immediately went to visit his grandmother, with whom he spent one whole day. On the second day, he took a walk to the forest, to his place, where the view on the snow-covered mountain peaks was breathtaking and one could write books of poems about it. After walking along the thick coniferous forest and breathing fresh mountain air, he went down to town to buy some Christmas wrapping paper and in the evening he busied himself with wrapping up the gifts. And among other things, he finally had time to sit at the piano and play. For months one melody was dancing in his mind and he wanted to finally put it into accords.

It was all the same routine on Christmas Eve. In the morning Jaskier was doing what he knew best, decorating the Christmas tree in the living room while his father was so engrossed in the television’s Christmas program as he hasn’t seen it every year before. After finishing with the tree decoration it always ended with Jaskier joining him and together they were watching reruns of the Christmas classic _Home Alone._ Meanwhile, since early morning, his mother was dancing around the kitchen, baking gingerbread so it would be soft and fresh and then cooking and preparing the festive Christmas eve dinner. 

If one asked her if you could lend a helping hand, she would scoff. She wouldn’t let anyone close but still would complain that nobody helped her in this household. A family idyll, indeed. 

Despite disturbed relationships between them as family, this strangely felt comforting. Like years ago, when things were good. Jaskier nearly shed a tear upon this realization.

Nearing the evening mother called Jaskier to set the table. At least this task he was allowed to do. He set the table for five. Him, mother, father, grandma and an extra plate for an unexpected guest or vagrant. However, the whole Pankratz’s family liked to believe it was set for Alfred, Jaskier’s late grandfather, who he hadn't had a chance to meet. Taking extra effort and care to make everything look perfect, napkins folded nicely and silverware shining and then setting up bowls of dried peas and plums on the table. 

As for tradition while Jaskier was setting up the table and mother was adding final touches to the dinner, father went to pick up grandma, who always spent Christmas eve with Jaskier’s family in their house. Beside gingerbread, which is his mother’s speciality, grandma was always in charge of other desserts and sauerkraut pierogi for the festive dinner, so immediately after her arrival Jaskier unpacked the extra dishes and arranged them on the table.

And when the first star appeared in the sky, announcing the dinner start, at last Jaskier then lit a candle in the ancient candlestick lined with fresh chechina, he picked up on his walk the day before, which was always set in the centre of the table. 

Now everything was ready and _wigilia_ could start.  
  


“No, dad. I’ve already told you, and I won’t repeat myself, that I would not take the job offer. I’ve already got a job plus I’m still studying,” Jaskier repeated himself. He was getting tired of this and in the corner of the soul, he hoped that his father already gave up on this idea.

It’s been a while since Jaskier’s father had met with the headmaster of liceum in Zakopane, who said they’re looking for the polish language teacher and his father promised to the headmaster that he would persuade Jaskier to take the job offer. Looking for an opportunity to bring his son back to his hometown and use him for building his image.

Jaskier declined, he wouldn’t dare to leave Warsaw when he worked and studied there and mainly, more importantly, he would not leave Geralt and their shared flat. He felt more than happy there and he would not be coming back to the ever controlling environment, to be his father’s puppet. Despite all of this, his father still thought he could somehow persuade him to take the job offer. _Good luck, trying_ , Jaskier laughed to himself. He has family there. Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri. To Jaskier, they would be his family, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual from their side, he wouldn’t leave them.

“There was no talking about dropping your studies, you could switch to an extramural study program. The money wouldn’t be a problem,” father reassured him, as if.

“Oh, yeah? And now you’re not ashamed that your only son would be _just_ a stupid language teacher in some nowhere town?” Jaskier raised his voice.

“Don’t test my patience Julian,” he warned.

“ _Marianek_ ,” grandma threatened his father, “Let the boy breathe. It’s Christmas and nobody wants to deal with things like that.”

Father silently went back to his mushroom soup. Grandma winked at Jaskier and he smiled. The rest of the Christmas eve dinner went smoothly without an incident. The adults kept talking about nothing and everything. Grandma and mother complimenting each other’s cooking and father not recognising which was who’s cooking. Two women in the household gave him a look. Father smiled sheepishly and poured everyone more spirit. Sometimes they included Jaskier in their conversation, most likely to reminisce on good old times. But mostly it was just adults and Jaskier, who kept slowly picking apart at many tiny bones in his portion of fried carp. Same old, same new.

After each one had a bit of every one of twelve dishes, each of them scooped up a spoon into a prepared bowl full of dried peas, homegrown from grandma’s garden, and then counted the peas. It was supposed to show whether the person, who they were thinking about the most while doing this ritual, loved them or loved them not. The same as one might do while picking apart petals from a flower. _They love me. They love me not._

The person on Jaskier’s mind was no one other than the white-haired strong and kind individual, who was currently hundreds of kilometres away. 

_He loves me… he loves me not… he loves me… he loves me not… he loves me..._

Wait. 

_He loves me._

Does this mean that Geralt loves him? And if, what truth did it hold? It was just another stupid old-fashioned tradition. 

“Who could think a few shots would knock you out, eh Julek?” he was nudged from this daydreaming state by his father who offered him an opłatek with honey and garlic. 

He shook his head and accepted the opłatek, “Right...that only means the goralka is very strong, right?” muttered Jaskier. He felt hot, his cheeks and tips of ears burning, clearly from alcohol, not because of someone else.

“That’s the spirit, son. We’re gorals!” father exclaimed and as a dot for the dinner, he poured each one at the table one more shot.

Mother excused herself from the table and soon the sound of the bell was heard, which signalled that presents were already laid underneath the Christmas tree and waited to be opened.

Jaskier as the youngest member of the family handed out everyone their gifts. Then came his turn in unpacking the gifts. From his parents Jaskier got a fashionable watch with sunny yellow strap and the classic of every Christmas, socks, however, they were no ordinary boring socks, they were colourful and with playful designs. Grandma gifted him a fancy notebook and a pen, which imitated the medieval feather quill pen, in vivid yellow colour and a big pastel yellow fluffy blanket. It was funny how everyone seemed to get that yellow was his favourite colour? Was it so obvious?

When all presents were exchanged, opened, tried and awed at, Jaskier excused himself and went to bed to lay down. Nevermind, it was only nearing midnight, which was too soon to cut down the festivities. He didn’t understand his feelings at all, it was all strange. On one side he felt happy because his family for once acted normal. Their kind of normal. On the other one, he felt lonely, empty like some piece of him was missing. Or was it the strong spirit, which got into his head? Speaking of, his head started to hurt and his eyes were getting heavy.

From downstairs he heard his mother and father talking about checking up on him, father reasoned it was no need, the alcohol just got to his head and he needed to sleep it off. After all, he wasn’t used to drinking such strong stuff in Warsaw. 

Sleep came to him naturally.  
  


Christmas Day on the following day was always spent at his grandma’s house, where at noon father would always drive them, where they would be joined by uncle and aunt from father’s side. This year was an exception to the tradition. This Christmas Day they stayed in, just lounging around, watching television and nibbling on Christmas pastry. Jaskier slept till noon and still felt tired so he just for the rest of the day joined the family downstairs by the television.

The reason why this tradition had to be delayed by a day was his elder cousin Ferrant, who since he got older kept visiting less frequently. This year, however, as he heard from his parents, Ferrant was supposed to join them on this family visit, along with someone else.

“Me and Frederyka would like to tell you something,” Ferrant took the hand of his companion into his and stared into her eyes.

“We’re engaged!” they exclaimed together.

Everyone at their post-wigilia dinner, which in this case was lunch put together with leftovers from the real Christmas eve dinner, all present at the table at once put down their cutlery and clapped to the happy pair. Jaskier clapped, too though it was pointless, he didn’t know those two people at all.

“Come on Julek, play some carols to induce the right atmosphere,” aunt Cecylia suggested and smiled sweetly at him. She was always too sweet to him.

Far too nervous and his fingers twitchy for any kind of activity, Jaskier nodded and went to sit at the old piano in the living room, which was in a dire need of tuning. Now he didn’t have time or energy for dealing with it, so he left it as it was. On the note stack, he noticed a familiar postcard. It was the postcard he made from the photo he took at the Warsaw Christmas market. He smiled and put fingers on the piano tiles. 

Soon the carols played on an out of tune piano carried through the house. He played carols, which he knew by heart, learned back when he was a little child taking his first piano lessons. Till he felt a light nudge on his shoulder. Jaskier stopped playing and looked up, there stood his cousin Ferrant.

“Julian, can we speak for a moment?” he pointed to the hall, “Outside.”

Before Jaskier could have answered or processed this information, Ferrant already stood near the door, coat on. He had no choice, other than to follow him and find out what was all of this about.

Ferrant walked ahead from the front garden to the street and when Jaskier caught up to him he took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and pulled one out, then offered one to Jaskier, but he declined. Ferrant then lit up his cigarette and breathed out a cloud of smoke, “I don’t want to be on bad terms with you, Julian.”

Jaskier crossed his arms, “Oh, yeah, I heard you’re going to have a wedding. So why not be on good terms with the only musician in the family, am I right?”

“No, it’s not like that, Julian-”

“So what is it then?” he snapped.

“I’m aware I wasn’t always good and fair to you. It was that big age gap between us. However, I’d like to get to know my only cousin and mend our relationship,” Ferrant explained.

“Why do you care about me so much?”

“We’re adults right now, now we can put all our childish prejudice behind us. This doesn’t mean we forget all that has happened between us, but we could start once again. This time as reasonable adults, not bratty children. What do you say, Julian?”

“ _Jaskier_ ,” he corrected, “If we’re doing this, call me Jaskier, okay? And you know what? Same on me. I was too stubborn to actually try to talk to you and form some connection because you know my standpoint to lawyers,” he paused, “Hold on… I’m actually on a neutral stance in that thing, now. Would you believe I’m kinda best friends with a lawyer now? Do you believe in that irony?” 

“How had you two even met?” Ferrant wondered.

“Through a mutual friend and meeting, _that_ friend was like a fairytale. We met at a renaissance fair, I was a bard, he was a knight,” Jaskier smiled upon this memory.

Ferrant glared, “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you Ju- _Jaskier_.”

Jaskier huffed, “Believe or not, it’s true. However the more realistic version would be us meeting on the parent's teacher’s evening, I was his daughter's teacher.”

“You teach at university in Warsaw now, so I heard? That's a pretty high position. Congratulations.”

Jaskier took the cigarette Ferrant was still offering, “Nah, they exaggerate too much. I’m only doing a doctorate and within the study, I take over a few seminary classes and that’s all, not even a lecturer.”

“But still, that’s quite a progress! You should be proud of yourself! What do you teach exactly?”

“For now just _Poetics and literary analysis_ for first years, and next semester, we’ll see.”

“I didn’t know you smoked,” his cousin arched an eyebrow.

“Because I don’t. That’s what university life does to you. Sometimes you needed to calm your nerves or find an inspiration when you had an essay due the next day,” Jaskier coughed, “Fuck this thing. A necessary evil.”

“Why now?”

“Frankly, my nerves are not in a good condition now, so let’s say,” Jaskier confessed.

“Indeed. That’s why me and Frederyka came here, to rest for a while. We booked a cottage in the mountains and are planning to stay here.”

“You’re going to love the mountains. Especially now, when there’s snow. It looks magical, like a fairytale. I could wax poetic about the nature of mountains for hours, but it’ll never be enough. You have to go and see to ascertain yourselves,” Jaskier raved, hands engaged in animatic gestures.

“And you Jaskier? What are your plans?”

“I dunno,” he threw the cigarette down. “Just to endure and then back to Warsaw.”

“Is there someone?”

Is there? Well, Geralt is there, but it wasn’t like it was mutual. It was just a thought back in his head. A nice thought.

“Maybe,” Jaskier breathed after a while.  
  


“See Julian, if you've been nicer to Annarietta, you could be married now. You two could be such a perfect match.” 

_Ah, here we go again,_ the talks about his love life, which only had to have intensified right now as his cousin already had found his other half. Mayor’s son and the regional court judge’s daughter's wedding what a connection it would make. Jaskier sighed, this was a well-discussed neverending topic, “Do you believe in fairy tales, mom?”

“Julian, why these questions? Something to do with Cinderella?” his mother wondered.

 _Three Nuts for Cinderella_ , a rerun of the beloved Christmas classic, a film from neighbouring Czech Republic was playing in the background, on grandmother’s old-fashioned television. Frederyka and Ferrant were sitting enclosed in each other’s embrace. The coffee table in front of them was filled up with various Christmas cakes and pastries, some were leftover and some were brought by his aunt. Father and uncle seemed more engaged in the pastries than the fairy-tale. And Jaskier himself sat right on the edge of the grandma’s too big sofa, trying to pay attention to the film, but the constant chatter of his mother, aunt and grandma kept disturbing him, until he interrupted their conversation.

“It will make sense, just please answer,” he clarified.

“Oh. Have it your way then,” she waved her hand and put the half-drunk glass of lemonade on the coffee table, “Don’t be daft, of course, I don’t! Although the idea of them is nice.”

“And what about legends, do you believe in them?”

“It would be nice to pretend the world is actually working that way.”

“See, you got the point, mom.”

“I don’t understand,” Jaskier’s mother shook her head.

“Fairy-tales cease to be legends when people start believing in them,” Jaskier stated, his voice serious.

His mother didn’t seem interested in whatever her son was implying, “What’s the actual point of this conversation, Julian?”

“To prove that fairy-tales don’t exist and legends, however real they appear, there's always something more added to it, otherwise it wouldn’t be a good story. Even if you believe in legends at the end of the day you know they're not real,” he said quickly, in one breath. Then took another, “This thing you keep bringing up, about the wedding… that’s fairy-tale and even if you believe it, the legend still stays a legend. It’s just not real, mom. I’m sorry.”

The house got silent. And uncomfortable silence, which kept stretching. Only Cinderella running on the television screen kept the house from the total isolating silence.

“How dare you exalt your mother?” his mother snapped, breaking the silence, “Did we not raise you right? To fool my head with your literary nonsense.”

“So me making you think critically is nonsense?” Jaskier snapped back at her.

“Do you know how lucky you are?” his father jumped in to defend his mother, “What would others do to be in your place? To trade it with you? You could have everything you ever asked for. Toys, instruments, books, tutoring and this is how you repay us? Talking back and dis-honesting us. You’re not a teenager anymore, so get over with it!” he voiced, “Me and your mother are disappointed, Julian.”

“Me? It’s _my_ fault? You’re the ones who won’t drop the fucking wedding concept even when I said _no_ like a million times. It won’t happen. Me and Annarietta both have moved in our lives and each one wants something different from life. Arranged marriage, honestly? Is this the 13th century, or what?” he mocked the absurdity of that statement, “You never cared what I liked, in what I was interested in because it was always just _a waste of time_ ,” he mimicked with air quotes, “Oh, wait...I’ve nearly forgotten. It wasn’t a waste of time when I was useful for your image? But then when it stopped being relevant I was no longer important enough for you. I’m not afraid to admit it, you like me only when I can be useful to you. Editing documents? Sure, why not, if your son is a linguist and would do it for free. A polish teacher dropped out at the liceum? No problem, your son would gladly take their place and move back here and help with papers, because where else lays my purpose?”

“You still have not reconciled _the fact_ that I’m never going to become a lawyer or someone like that to follow in your footsteps. That I ran away to Warsaw to become just _a stupid_ language teacher, clearly shame to the whole family. Not to mention, that I have _a red diploma_ , scholarship and I’m doing a doctorate. That I more or the less moved to Warsaw and have a life there. I feel happy there, I’m doing something I love and I’m good at, why can’t you see it? Why can’t you be happy for me?” by this point, tears started welling in his eyes, “Mom, dad… I’m trying, believe me… I’m trying to be a good son, to be good enough for you. Good enough so you can be proud of me. I’ve already forgiven you for the fact that you overlooked my disorder because you couldn’t have known, and that’s alright. And these past days you’ve been so kind to me? What happened? Is it all fake, a dream? I don’t know anymore…” 

He panted, like he just finished running a kilometre, not just ranted in front of his whole family, who kept watching with him a bated breath. He let it all out but still felt a heavyweight sitting on his chest. All eyes were on him. When had he become more interesting than Cinderella, which was reaching its conclusion point.

“We’ve been missing you,” his mother began, undisturbed by his current outburst, “You have even stopped visiting us, you’re always making excuses about following your roommate. Do we bore you so much Julian, that you don’t want to come home? If your roommate is really worth it, why won’t you go back to your roommate instead?” she scoffed.

“Well, maybe I should. At least I will feel welcome there,” _as you wish, mother,_ “Now if you’ll excuse me I’ll go to pack my things and book a train ticket _home_.” 

“You’re walking straight into the _wolf’s_ _den_ , Julian,” his mother angrily stressed.

Upon hearing these words of her, Jaskier wanted to burst into the manic laughter, because of the fucking irony of it. 

_Wolf’s den_ , he sneered, _how true your words, dear mother are, and you even don’t know it._

Without any word, Jaskier stood up, hastily grabbed his coat and scarf and slammed the door. He winced. Standing frozen on his grandma’s doorstep he finally released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The emotions inside him were teeming. Or maybe it was the adrenaline. A lone tear made it down his cheek and he quickly wiped it. No, he won’t cry, he won’t cry… but the tears were already coming, falling into his scarf and this time he didn’t bother wiping them.

“Let it out all out Julianek,” someone muttered behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. Jaskier jumped and quickly turned to face the intruder. It was just his grandma. _Grandma._

“Y-you’re not angry with me?” he stammered and sniffled.

“Your parents told me to have a word with you, that they're sorry and need time to think about things you’ve said. But honestly, if someone needs a word right now it’s not you, it’s them and you said what should be said a long time ago. If something, I’m proud of you Julek, for standing up for yourself,” with her thumb, she wiped his tears, “I should stop you from going, but it’s never been in my nature to deny one’s heart’s calling.”

“What do you mean?”

“Go to your boy, I see how happy he makes you,” Jaskier blushed, but it was only from cold and crying, totally. To hide his face, Jaskier hugged her tight, tears still falling but these were tears of relief, “Thank you, grandma.”

“Please let me know when you’re leaving so I could go to show you off and also pack you up with all those Christmas cakes and pastries I’ve baked. Can’t have you starving on your journey to Warsaw, can I?”

“Not Warsaw, not this time,” Jaskier spoke with determination along with leftover tears, which still shone in his eyes, “This time it’s Silesia.”  
  


The long train ride awaited him, right on the same evening. He was lucky that he was able to find and book trains, which operated on the holiday. If everything would go according to the schedule, he should be in Geralt’s village around 9 am the next day. 

The journey consisted of one train switch and then one bus ride. Jaskier’s original plan was to stay awake for 2 hours of the first train ride. Spend time listening to music and then catch some shut-eye for the following 4 hours train ride after changing trains in Kraków and the rest he left on a coincidence or a destiny. This idealistic plan would quickly fall down like a house of cards.

Ride from Zakopane to Kraków went smoothly. As it was a direct night train with no stops in between, and there weren't many people to make the bustle. About half an hour after departure from the station everything went silent, save from occasional rustle of the blanket heard from other passengers or slight buzzing from the dimmed fluorescent lamps in the carriage and the gentle clacking of the train wheels against the rails. The atmosphere was calm and Jaskier who sat with headphones in, head rested on the window while sitting bundled up in a fluffy blanket, Christmas gift from grandma, was quickly lured into an easy sleep.

He woke up from his unplanned nap by the noise of other passengers. He pulled out his phone and checked the time, he cursed, he wasn’t supposed to fall asleep now. Nevertheless, the map on the screen in the carriage showed that the train was supposed to arrive in Kraków in about 6 minutes. 

Jaskier yawned and rubbed his eyes and settled for packing up his things. When the train arrived at the station, he had to still wait for a good 2 hours for the next train. He gathered his things and went to find a seat in the Kraków main station building. 

The interior shone with emptiness, the only activity was felt from a few open ticket windows and sometimes, although very rarely, a person or two flitted by. Unexpectedly, as the light and the end of the tunnel, he found one of the many coffee shops open. In a hurry, Jaskier stepped in the shop, put down his things as close as possible to himself and decided this would be his den till his next’s train departure. He looked around the café and it was completely empty, save for him. He yawned again and leaned his head on the arm.

“...sir? Can I get you anything, sir?” suddenly he felt somebody gently touching him by the shoulder and speaking to him. 

“Huh? W’at?” he mumbled. Strange, he didn’t remember falling asleep. Checking his phone immediately, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It was only 0:27 am, _thank god_ , he said to himself.

“Deeply apologizing, for waking you, sir. You came here and I forgot to ask you if you want to order anything,” the waitress, by the look of it, awoken about 3 minutes ago, explained.

Jaskier thought for a while. Coffee would be nice, it’ll keep him awake, but he shouldn’t drink it, because he actually _needs_ to fall asleep in a while. So the tea would be nice, it’ll keep him warm and if he’ll be slowly sipping it, it may as well kill him time here.

“C-can,” he cleared his throat, “Can I have a lavender tea, please?”

“Of course, sir. Be right back.”

Lavender tea because, as by Yennefer’s saying, its calming effects help with anxiety, restlessness and relaxing in general. Exactly what Jaskier needs right now.

With a genuine smile, he thanked her for the tea and the next hour was spent with him slowly stirring and sipping the tea. In the meantime, he set up a reminder on his phone, in case he would fall asleep again or were lost in the thoughts to forget that he actually had _an important_ train to catch.

Luckily, in an hour the announcement about his train boarding was heard over the intercom. Jaskier quickly, as to not lose the already built up warmness and sleepiness, gathered his luggage and sprinted from the train café shop to the platform.

He found himself a window seat, put down his things for the millionth time today, pulled out a hastily folded blanket around himself, closed eyes and waited for the train to depart so he could catch more sleep. 

This time sleep didn’t come as easily as before. 

It was the steady movement of the train and its rhythmic clanking against the rails, which was keeping him calm and lulled. Now, as the train, which was by no means inter-city but regional class, kept stopping nearly every 15 minutes and even though people rarely got off or on, its distributed pattern, slowing down, stopping, starting up, caused Jaskier to become restless and agitated thus he was in no position to be calm enough to fall asleep again. He was tired, he wanted to fall back asleep, but right now he couldn’t. Even the earlier drunk lavender tea didn't ease his anxiety. Everything became too much, every rustle, creak, brush, was so loud and distracting. 

He tried putting on some calm music to relax a bit, but no chance. When he eventually managed to fall asleep in a while he was shaken awake by the train stopping in another station. The idea of sleep did not look as promising as before. Instead, he settled with the headphones, bundled up in the blanket against the window and closed his eyes. If he couldn’t sleep he could just rest his eyes for a bit. And it worked.

When he opened his eyes again, it was drawing to dawn. Behind the window, he could now recognise a moving scenery of houses and trees and the snow glittering in the distance and its slight pink hue. Jaskier smiled, despite not sleeping and being awake for the bigger part of this train ride, he didn’t feel as tired as before and he looked forward to finally reaching his destination. Just half an hour to go.

Before getting to his final destination, labelled by his mother as _a wolf’s den_ , he had to overcome one more remaining step of this journey. So close and yet so far. This should be easy-peasy as he already overcame two of the three steps. At last, he finally arrived at the second to last destination, the city of Rybnik, where he had to spend two more hours waiting for the bus to Geralt’s village. 

The city unfamiliarness was creeping out to him. What should he do for two hours in the freezing cold, at 6 am, where everything was closed? This left waiting in some café shops out. 

He opted for a makeshift ‘breakfast’ from the food and drinks vending machines at the train station. He had a black coffee from the machine to kick him, however, he didn’t trust this watery coffee’s ability to do it. For a snack, he chose a pack of salty crackers and two fruit müsli bars. Honestly, there wasn’t much to choose from. He sat there for a while, sipping the awful coffee and nibbling on crackers.

Stepping outside, the cold sept to his bones, reminding him how tired and weary he actually was. He shivered and pulled his burgundy wool scarf closer. Oh, how he longed to fall into a nice fluffy, warm bed, bundle himself in the blankets and not leave. Soon, very _soon_ , he reminded himself. If everything goes right, he supposed.

In front of him, he spotted florist’s. He rejoiced and was already thinking of getting Geralt flowers as a welcome gift. Before he could arrange the whole bouquet in his head, as he came closer to the shop’s display he slapped his head. Of course, they were closed, who could have thought, right?

Flowers forgotten, he thought of a quick walk in the city centre, however, this idea was soon dismissed as it was too cold and too early for sightseeing. He rather went to find the school in front of which, according to the map, the bus stop should be. It didn’t take long as it was right behind the corner of the train station. Only one hour left. 

Jaskier kept pacing back and forth the street, mainly to not freeze on the stop and also to calm his racing thoughts. He constantly kept checking the time, the more he did it, the more he had the feeling that the time froze and he was stuck at this moment. Final line. _Breathe, Jaskier, breathe, you come this far, you must finish this journey._

He was the only one waiting at the bus stop and even started to have doubts if this bus stop is the right one. Thankfully, ten minutes before the bus’ arrival people started to gather at the bus stop. Mainly old people with full bags of groceries from a nearby supermarket, whose daily routine consisted of early morning shopping trips. _Ah, of course, shops are open today_ , Jaskier thought. By now Jaskier had completely resigned and was sitting down on the cold uncomfortable bench bundled in his scarf and protectively holding his lute case, as it could be the protection against the cold.

In a while, the silhouette of the approaching bus was starting to be seen in the distance and soon the screech of the tires against the asphalt was heard. He didn’t even blink and he was already saying to the bus driver those _important_ words “One ticket to Rudy, please.”

After taking a long detour around the city the bus finally turned and soon enough the urban scenery started to slip into a familiar rural one. This time Jaskier beside general nervousness also felt determination, he was going where he was supposed to be. Sure this decision was an impulsive one, but this was him doing the right thing. He was ready for whatever awaited him.

Arriving at the village the bus stopped near the church, and as the bus left Jaskier was standing on the spot, no clue what he should do next. Theoretically, he knew where Geralt’s house was. It was at the end of the village, right where the deep forest was beginning to spread. The problem was he didn’t know the exact address. The truth is, he had been with Geralt and his brothers at the main street, let’s say the heart of the village, where shops, restaurants and other utility buildings were located. It may have slipped from his mind that here in this village was located this church because he was outright sure he hadn't seen it before.

The church bells chimed and the court in front of the chapel was beginning to fill up with people. He didn’t want to sound stereotypical, but as it’s well known with the people in the village, they were mostly old ladies who immediately after emerging from the church’s gates started engaging in their favourite post-mass activity, which was gossiping.

They had to notice him standing there, out of place, with luggage and a lute case, that they interrupted the seance, which was being held, in order to question a weary young traveller, who appeared out of nowhere. 

Jaskier was too exhausted to hold a meaningful conversation with strangers, he had enough of it for today. An irony, today had only just started. 

In short, he explained to them that he’s Vesemir’s son’s friend and he came for a visit and didn’t know his way there from this part of the village. They immediately pointed out directions to his long-awaited goal, either they felt sorry for him or they wanted him gone so they could continue in parsing the latest village gossip. Sure, they knew where he lived, how could they not? After all, Vesemir's son was the one who kept this village internet and cable connection alive. This was a village and in the village, everyone knows each other. The old ladies of the village are like sudiczki, they have eyes everywhere and know everything.

And now the final _final_ part of the journey followed. Only a mere kilometre separated him from his desired goal. And Geralt didn’t know anything, he peacefully slept, Jaskier hoped. Or was he up already and having breakfast? Would he welcome him with open arms? Or would he be mad and send him back where he came from? Out of question, he would not come home with a tail between his legs like a kicked out puppy. His alternative to this scenario is going back to their flat in Warsaw. Who cares if things would be awkward between them? Firstly he wants to grumble in peace, not caring about anything and then he’ll see.  
  


Vesemir made a cup of coffee and sat down in the armchair, putting his feet up while reaching for the control remote to turn on the TV and find something suitable to watch. In a while, he was joined by Lil’ Bleater who jumped on his lap and chose this place as a place for her nap. After flicking through the channels he settled on a rerun of an old comedic program. 

The rest of the house was still soundly asleep and he reckoned they would wake up at lunch, at the latest. They stayed up all night playing some game, this time it was a card game, which was their pastime for the past two evenings. Just as Vesemir took a sip of his coffee, the doorbell rang. The unexpected ring of the doorbell startled the cat, that she jumped down and stubbornly walked away. Vesemir sighed and went to get the door, a postman probably.

However, in front of the gate there stood a person who he would not expect here at all, not this time. Messy brown hair, black coat wrapped against the body and that lute case, that could be the only one person, “Is that you, Jaskier?” he called.

Jaskier nodded and before he could say more Vesemir was already standing in front of the main gate, “Not that I don’t fancy seeing you here Jaskier, but may I know to what I owe the pleasure?”

“Ehm… I wanted to surprise Geralt so I came here,” he stammered. _Good wording, Jaskier very good. Geez, I wonder why they call you a poet,_ “May I have a word with him?”

The old man warmly smiled, “Of course, don’t just stand here, come inside, boy. You’re shaking like a leaf, we don’t want you getting cold,” he beckoned him inside.

“Actually, could you rather tell Geralt to come here and don’t say it’s me, as I said I want it to be a surprise,” Jaskier said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“That’s why I like you, boy, Wait here,” Vesemir thankfully didn’t seem to be bothered with following Jaskier’s rules, he played by them.

Several minutes flew by, before the front door flew open and there stood Geralt, by the looks of it, now pulled out of sleep, his white hair sticking in every direction, wearing only pyjamas, slippers and hastily thrown-over coat. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and then their eyes met.

“I’ve expected a delivery guy,” Geralt stammered, not believing his eyes.

Jaskier only smirked, leaning on the fence, “Sorry, that I’m no man from your expectations.” 

No response from the white-haired man. Only stillness visible on Geralt’s face. _Oh. This isn’t good. I overdid._ Jaskier’s stomach fell and his face paled. He felt dizzy, he had to grip the fence for stability.

He heard his name being called out. It was Geralt beckoning him closer, reaching out to him. He gathered strength and met his eyes again, “What is Geralt? Did I-”

Before Jaskier could finish whatever was on his mind Geralt wrapped his arms around the brunet, pulling him closer for a hug. Jaskier melted in the hug, face pressed against Geralt’s chest. He completely gave in, he was slipping down, then he felt strong hands gently pulling him up, steadying him on his feet. That’s the moment where the piercing blue eyes met the nearly amber eyes. He could have lost himself in those eyes.

Geralt reached up to wrap his arms around Jaskier for one more time, instead, he pulled him closer and tilted his head to look straight into his eyes. And before he knew he was kissing him. Jaskier froze in his arms. Geralt wanted to pull out, terrified of what he had done, but at the same moment Jaskier, who now placed his hands on Geralt’s shoulders, deepened the kiss.

He didn’t think anymore, instead, with one hand he pulled Jaskier by the waist closer to himself, while the fingers on the second hand gently caressed his jawline. Jaskier’s face was chipped from the cold and wind, but still so soft to touch, the said brunet immediately relaxed in his arms, the posture not so tense anymore. The colour returning to his cheeks, tinging them rosy pink.

Jaskier reached up to wrap his arms around Geralt’s neck to keep him as close as to convince himself this was real and not a dream and he wouldn’t wake up on the train in the following moment. Feeling that silky white-hair of his in between his fingers was comforting. Threading through them in between his fingers was grounding him in this reality. At that moment he felt as Geralt’s fingers brushed away his messy fringe from his eyes. His subconsciousness couldn’t have come with that. _Oh, god, this is real._

He opened his eyes and found himself staring into the amber eyes of no other than Geralt. _His Geralt._ His breath was hitching, his heart was beating rapidly, but this wasn’t anxiety. This was something better. Far better. In front of him was Geralt, his Geralt, with messy hair, that soft smile and a warm glint in those amber eyes of his. _How could somebody be so beautiful,_ Jaskier thought as Geralt now cupped his face in between his hands. Workcaloused hands, but very soft and tender. Jaskier tightened his grip on Geralt. He didn’t want this moment, this point in time to end, their lips still pressed together, in the initiation of another kiss. So Jaskier went for it.

They both were a mess. Geralt dishevelled from sleep and Jaskier dishevelled from the whole night of travelling. Ragged, exhausted, dark circles visible on the pale face. Lips of both of them chapped, from cold, wind, sleep and dry air. Hair of both of them messy bedhead, sticking in every direction, fringe unruly and falling into the eyes, strands of hair here and there. Clothes of both of them rumpled from the turning over in their sleep and many hours spent in moving vehicles. However, for each other, they were at their most perfect. The kiss didn’t feel strange at all. What was the most surprising was that it felt _natural_ , like a completely routine matter between the two of them.

Breathless, already panting, they both pulled out from the kiss. It was not known how long they stood there engrossed in the kiss. A minute? Or ten? One thing was certain, the cold started getting into them, even though they stood in each other’s embrace, they didn’t escape the slight shivers running down their backs.

“I missed you,” Geralt whispered, still holding his face in between his hands and tracing his thumb against Jaskier’s cheek.

“Goodness, this is not how I imagined our first kiss,” breathing hard, cheeks rosy, Jaskier beamed at him. 

His smile was so bright that it could thaw all the snow around them and make sprout buttercups and dandelions around them. This wasn’t the occasion, this wasn’t a fairy-tale, or another metaphor coming straight outta Jaskier’s poetry, but the feeling was there and for that moment everything was _fairy-taley_ alright.  
  


“So you spent the whole night travelling here?” Geralt asked, now sitting with Jaskier on the sofa in the living room. 

Jaskier was wrapped in a warm blanket, leaning on Geralt’s chest and slowly sipping the herbal tea with a big spoon of honey, Vesemir brought him to warm him up as he tried to wipe out the cheeky smile playing upon his face before disappearing into the kitchen.

“You bet! And what a path it was. Far more severe and exhausting than the witcher’s path,” Jaskier exclaimed with a playful glint in his eyes.

“Well, well who do we have here?” another voice joined them, “Tell me, which one of you two finally had guts to express their feelings?”

“Hi, Yen,” Jaskier waved at her. Because of course, who else could that be.

“Oh, Jaskier hi, fancy seeing you here,” Yennefer greeted him.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Jaskier stated looking at her.

“How could I be surprised about something so obvious that it kept burning my eyes?”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t want to kiss his pretty face ever since you laid your eyes on him, hmm?” Yennefer raised her eyebrows in question.

“Well yes, but it was actually Geralt who kissed me first,” Jaskier blushed.

She pointed at Geralt and yelled, “ _I knew it!_ And others wouldn’t believe me!”

 _“Knew what?”_ Geralt and Jaskier asked at the same time.

“That it would be Geralt, who will make the first move,” Yennefer revelled, “Now _lovebirds_ enjoy yourselves, I’m going to grant those two faithless idiots a nice warm waking up call,” she grinned mischievously and disappeared in the house.

So were Yennefer and Geralt’s brothers betting on them? Geralt and Jaskier just looked at each other in confusion and shrugged.   
  


Jaskier slowly kept sipping his tea, till the mug was empty. Then he made himself comfortable in Geralt’s arms. 

“I thought you were into girls,” Geralt suddenly spoke, “Nothing against of course, but why _me?_ ”

“ _Dear heart_ , I swing both ways. Doesn’t matter to me, I fall for people’s hearts.”

Two of them continued to sit cuddled together on the sofa. Jaskier already relaxed and not so cold. In between themselves, _the feeling_ of laying in Geralt’s arms warmed him more. That and the warmness spreading from the gentle cracking of wood in the fireplace. But mostly Geralt.

“So how did you imagine our first kiss, hmm?” Geralt asked, stroking his partner’s messy hair, “Jaskier?”

No answer. Jaskier was fast asleep in his arms, with an adorable smile on his face. Geralt brushed off a lock of his unruly hair and kissed him in the hair.

“Sleep well, _Julianek_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [map of Jaskier's travels](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b388ce9e64e7a6bec1c1ae9a3e457ee6/1db413dd7758f3f7-21/s2048x3072/7e1db54babdc4d87cf02a2a48bab37ffa5ce9ee3.png)
> 
> poem - [_Winter_](https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Ballads) \- version from The Witcher 3 game glossary
> 
>  _magister_ \- equivalent to english master’s degree used in central Europe, including Poland  
>  _liceum_ \- high school in Poland oriented on general knowledge education  
>  _vedmak_ \- from Slavic mythology, Slavic "shaman" who worked with herbs and magic. This term is used in the Czech version of The Witcher as an insult to call witcher. The Witcher is normally called "zaklínač", which means "one who casts spells"  
>  _miodunka_ \- vodka flavoured with honey, popular drink in Silesia  
>  _Judge Barbara_ \- czech version of American reality show _Judge Judy_. I'm using the czech brand, deliberately, because it's such an iconic saying  
>  _rydzik_ \- edible mushroom  
>  _Marigold_ \- the czech translation of Jaskier in The Witcher lore. This is me just paying homage to it  
>  _matura_ \- high school leaving exam in Poland and other central Europe countries  
>  _chechina_ \- branches of coniferous trees used for decoration in wreaths i. e.  
>  _wigilia_ \- traditional Christmas Eve dinner in Poland and other central Europe countries  
>  _goralka_ \- local term used for moonshine, strong spirit in mountain range  
>  _sudiczki_ \- slavic demon of fate, usually appearing as a trio of women, similar to Moirai from the greek mythology


End file.
